


Lilies of the Valley

by DarkBloodyCrow



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adapted Jewish into Khuzdul, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Antisemitism, Blood and Violence, Dwarf's/Jew's frienship, Dwarfs are Jews, Erebor - freeform, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Homophobia, Jewish culture adopted into Tolkien's Dwarven culture, Khuzdul refferences to real life characters, Language of Flowers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Smaug - Freeform, The One Ring - Freeform, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2358692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkBloodyCrow/pseuds/DarkBloodyCrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet Bilbo Baggins; German bourgeois who owns some lands and makes his living out of them. His life is calm, steady and there is no bigger worry for him than to be on time for his meals. But to live in Germany in 1939 ensures little peacefulness, whether you live in the small and tranquil town of “The Shire” or in the great Berlin.</p><p>Enter Gandalf, an old acquaintance of Bilbo’s and a great friend of his late mother, Belladonna Took. At first sight, Bilbo is slightly afraid to be in the company of the old man, what with the hostility that Germany had towards the USSR in those difficult years. Certainly some extremist would notice Gandalf’s peculiar appearance and would find it suspicious that the good an honorable Bilbo Baggins was in his company. But the old man’s presence in his house would be the last of his concerns when the Russian clarifies the reason for his appearance; he requests Bilbo’s assistance to hide a few Jews in his “Bag End” cottage.</p><p>Only difficult times can come out of an agreement with the mysterious Russian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I. Tiger Lilies, Flax & Forsythia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT II: well, it seems that I am far too slow writing and my chapters only get longer as I plan them, so I'll be trying to post a chapter every 2 weeks. If everything goes well, chap 2 would be up late on Saturday 12/10/2014  
> I apologize to those who were expecting an update the previous Saturday, and hope you could have a bit of patience with my speed.
> 
> Not beta-ed, so any mistakes found in the fic are my own! (also, English is not my first language, feel free to point out any mistake you find out).  
> As it is obvious, I do not own any rights over The Hobbit's characters, and this fic's plot is based of the original book (of which I have no rights either), though no profit is made out of it. It has been written only for entertainment's sake!  
> Hope you enjoy it ^^
> 
> EDIT: Thanks to Dreaming_Sarana's help, the names for Bag End and The Shire have been changed to their German translation (Beutelsend and Auenland, respectively) so that the names won't stick out as strange in a nationalist Germany.

Every day began in the same old fashion. Wake up with the sun, tidy up, and prepare the first meal for the day. Breakfast was of course one of the most important meals of the day, and leave Bilbo Baggins to see that his morning ritual was respected completely, in honor of her late mother, Belladonna Took, who was the one to instill all the little oddities of the day-to-day life into his only son. It was, however, his father’s work, Bungo Baggins’s, to ensure that little Bilbo would grow into a respectable Baggins by teaching him the values of following a strict everyday schedule. Wake up early in the morning, make sure the lands were being worked on and that the laborers were in good conditions and high spirits (there was no better land owner-employee relationship than the one in which both sides were happy with their work), and never, under no circumstances, be late for any meal.

The issue with food was something both of his parents had pressed into his education with care and stubbornness. It would seem that their not-so-bourgeois like past, when food was scarce and hunger became an everyday issue, had made them wary of their only son’s nourishment. After all, two young foreigners that had fled from their country carrying little more than a few coins in their pockets and the hope for their love to be allowed here where their families couldn’t meddle were to expect nothing but difficulties in their path. Yet they persisted with their youthful stubbornness, and with years of dedication and hard work, not forgetting to please the right acquaintances, the young couple was able to save enough to start their humble, cozy life in a smaller village.

Auenland, located at the south of Germany and quite close to Lake Constance, was the place both of them were happy to call their homeland, leaving back their past lives and becoming German citizens to the eyes of their new neighbors after their marriage. It was not after some other ten years that the family was able to afford Beutelsend, a big cottage at the outskirts of the village, with a piece of land that was not far away from it and that was soon put to use as harvestable territory. From here on, the Baggins family was able to live a comfortable and quite wealthy life, even with the inclusion of a new little member that went by the name of Bilbo on an unusually sunny and warm 22nd of September, in 1907.

They frequently gave their thanks to whatever deity was looking after them throughout the difficult times that both Belladonna and Bungo had to fight through until they were able to position themselves as part of the middle class. It was true that during the end of the XIX century Germany was undergoing a great socio-economic growth, however success was not guaranteed, especially not for foreign youngsters.

Thirteen year old Belladonna didn’t even look like a grown up lady, what with her child-like and carefree demeanor, accompanied with her petite and cheerful appearance and longing for adventures, which made it difficult to find a “paid job”. Bungo, on the other hand, had the luck to have a more stoic and sober appearance which granted him the ability to hide his young fifteen’s, and through the first years of their arrival to Germany, he managed to maintain himself and his beloved _sunshine_.

Twenty-one years later little Bilbo came into their lives, and nothing could have made them happier. With the fair bright curls and the smile of his mother combined with the intense hazel sight of his father, the baby boy was born healthy and plump. He was quite bright minded too, enjoying as many books as his free time and his parents’ collection (which was not small by the time they had acquired Beutelsend) allowed him. However, despite all of the attentiveness he gave to Bungo when the man lectured him about the importance of modals, scholarship and of maintaining a respectable life, the little one still strived for adventures just as much as his mother had in her youth, to his father’s dismay. He’d frequently scold Bilbo for coming home late for supper, with dirtied clothes, little bruises and torn pants at the knees. Belladonna would of course pretend to be angry with his kid, but when his father turned away, she’d giggle just as much as her son and ask him about the little mischiefs he had been doing during the evening. It usually was about the strange noble family that lived not too far away from Auenland, and that Bilbo usually described as fairy-like and others times he was completely serious about calling them elves.

Unfortunately, the good times did not last for long. In 1914, when the kid had not yet turned 7, the male German population was found forced into an undesired war, and to the Baggins’ dismay, Bungo was no exception. Belladonna had tried to reason many times that his husband, forty-one years of age at the time, was already too old for such a demanding thing like a war. When that did not work, she tried to hide him from the calling, but even Bungo had already accepted his fate as a soldier for the country he had chosen as his homeland. No pleas or tears were enough to stop the old bourgeois from attending to his war-duties, and when Bilbo thinks back to the day he saw his gentle and chubby father crying with her stubbornly brave mother at the front door of Beutelsend, he becomes painfully aware that moment was when his childhood spiraled out and away from his life.

While walking out of the main room on the second floor and heading for the kitchen, the short man found himself involuntarily stopping in front of his father’s portray, a small painting standing on top of a bureau. Unlike cheerful Belladonna, Bungo always carried a sober expression when in the presence of people not close to him. It was not that the man found it difficult to deal with people or that he was not a pleasing company, but no one could deny that war had damaged him, not only physically but mentally just as much, if not more. If during Bilbo’s childhood the Baggins frequently celebrated big parties on the territory of Beutelsend in which all Auenland was invited, after the Great War such things only reminded in memory. Yes, the aftermath of four years of constant battles was the main reason for the somber atmosphere that had conquered the whole country, even the bright Auenland, but the old bourgeois, now past-soldier, did nothing to amend this, even when it was precisely the Baggins family the one that maintained alive Auenland with food supplies when there was a shortage of it and employment when the post-war situation had pushed numerous families into poverty. They were respected for all the good that they had brought to the small village, and so no one said anything when old Bungo was seen increasingly less and less out of his cottage.

Belladonna’s portray, to the left of Bungo’s, showed her big and tender smile and her rosy cheeks as a display of her constant joy. Her cheerfulness had however, as Bilbo remembered, subsided the instant that the _new_ Bungo returned. The chubby man that had left for war four years before became a skinny mass of past bruises and pale, thin skin that hinted the close presence of bones in some parts of his body. Worst of it all had been his left leg, which had received a bullet wound that had left the old man in the constant need for a cane.

After hours of crying for the misfortunes that Mr. Baggins had had to suffer, the family still gave their thanks to whatever deity was protecting them and that had ensured Bungo’s return after finishing his duty with the country.

Bilbo, on the other hand, during the period of his father’s absence, had started aiding his mother with the daily life of their “manor”, the care for their harvesting lands and the men and women that worked on them. The lad had soon learnt about the crops that the family grew for selling and about those that were grown for Auenland and Beutelsend, and in more than one occasion, especially when he saw other kids of his own age working in the fields, he’d help out with as much as he could, and being Bungo gone, no one had stopped him from coming home late and muddied. The young boy would also help his mother with the little garden that the family had on Beutelsend’s territory. It was not a big chunk of land, nothing to be compared with the place where the laborers worked, but its privilege was found in the big diversity of plants that Belladonna fancied growing. She was especially keen on growing all sorts of flowers and different varieties of crops that didn’t do well for selling and were not of basic need.

Skipping two stairs at a time, Bilbo reached the first floor and just when he was about to finally enter the kitchen, he caught sight of the back door at the end of the corridor that lead to their little garden, and an urge tugged him towards it. He didn’t want to call it _his_ , he didn’t like the feeling of loneliness that the concept brought. The man preferred to remember it as the result of the hard work of his parents, and thus belonging to them, not to him as a result of their loss. Bilbo would occasionally call it by the affectionate name of _Bag Hill_ too, a name that was given to the garden by Belladonna as a result of abbreviating “Beutelsend’s little Hill”.

When the bourgeois opened the door, a fragrant scent of flowers invaded his nostrils, and the good memories of her mother tending to Bag Hill in the early mornings of Sundays flooded his mind. He turned his sight to Belladonna’s favorite blossom corner, where beautiful little white flowers grew in an almost completely natural form. Lilies-of-the-Valley, his mother once told him, carried the meaning of “the return to happiness”, and the old lady often cut some stems of the plant to put the flowers in a vase that decorated the hall, in hopes that their good omen would bring Bungo back from war, unscratched and unchanged. The day before the father’s arrival, however, the previously placed lilies had withered and not been replaced on time.

Unconsciously, while thinking about the past, Bilbo had reached for the flowers and stroked the little buds with gentleness, fighting the urge to take some back into the hall’s vase again. What for? After all, it was not like he believed in the odd superstitions that her mother had taught him during his youth. Besides, what happiness did he desire to return? It was not like he could bring back his parents, or erase the tragedies of the war and post-war period. Had he been twenty years younger and not seen his father die from influenza two years after the Great War, he might have been foolish enough to thrive for the return for whatever happiness he unconsciously was wishing for, but Bilbo knew that he was no longer the adventurous kid he once was. His Took spirit had withered like the lilies of the entrance hall.

It was a painful sight to observe how the same thing had happened to his mother after the death of her husband. Belladonna surely had tried hard to hide his sadness and melancholy, and she might have fooled those who did not know her well, but Bilbo had been a perceptive young boy, and he knew his mother’s true smile, which he did not see again until two years ago, on her deathbed. It had saddened him to understand that he, as Belladonna’s only son, had not been enough to maintain her mother’s real happiness throughout the years, but on the other hand, he could understand, not through real life experience though, that the loss of a true love was a very painful wound, and if “true love” really existed, that would be Bungo and Belladonna’s life stroy.

Despite every forced refusal to take some of the lilies inside, the urge still tugged him, and resigned, he went to fetch a little knife and gardening gloves inside the garden’s old shed, cut three long stems full of blossoming flowers, tidied the mess he had made, and went back inside. He actually stood for thirty long seconds in front of the hall’s vase, mentally cursing himself for his “emotional stupidity”, but had finally taken it with him to the kitchen to fill it with water, convincing himself that the flowers were in honor of his deceased mother, as she was the one that loved them the most.

Finishing with his “strange urges”, as he called them, Bilbo noticed that he was already running late with the preparations for breakfast, and he was getting even more delayed for his revision of the laborer’s conditions. He went a bit in a hurry into the pantry and found to his dismay that he had run out of cheese. The bourgeois stared at the sadly looking chunk, and reluctantly took some loafs of bread, butter, strawberry marmalade, three eggs, milk and blueberry juice, and headed back to the kitchen. The man had quickly boiled the eggs and spread the butter and the jam over the loaves of bread, and while he waited for his milk to boil, emptied a glass of his homemade juice. Eating the rest in haste, Bilbo tidied everything, as per usual (a habit instilled by his father), and headed outside through the main door. Not three steps out of the cottage, the man found himself turning back and opening again the big circular green entrance to go and fetch the strawberries he had forgotten to take with him as a gift to the workers he was going to pay a visit.

The outskirts of Auenland were one of the most beautiful sights that Bilbo could think of. Not that he had seen a lot more of the world, but he was certain that there couldn’t be a place which could hold a bigger beauty than the blossoming hills of the little and cozy village the man considered his homeland. Chunks of green grass could be seen among patches of colorful buds growing along the path towards Baggins’ farming land, and Bilbo felt that should he lie in the soft looking green mattress, he’d certainly fall asleep under the sunrays of a bright Monday morning of mid-August.

After about ten minutes of walking, the short man reached the harvestable site where about ten men and women were already immersed in their labor. With a cheerful demeanor, Bilbo reached the group and exchanged some greetings and pleasantries, and gave them the basket with strawberries he had brought form Beutelsend for their elevenses.

 

“Remember, don’t over-exhaust yourselves! If you feel ill, do please let me know about it. I’ll be on the market during the morning, but you can find me in Beutelsend the rest of the day.” Bilbo announced with a smile on his face, but maintaining a serious tone to make sure everyone heard him and understood the importance of his words.

“Alright boy, alright.” That was Dimple Ackermann, an old man close to his sixties that surprised all Auenland every day with his strong spirit and incredibly healthy state. He was able to work on the fields far longer than Bilbo and had never been ill, not even after his return from the war. The only aspect about the man that unnerved the bourgeois was his constant insistence in calling Bilbo _boy_ or _lad_ , when he was to become thirty-two the following fall “And thank you for the strawberries, lad, yours are the sweetest of all Auenland. You should really think about selling them too.”

“Well, thank _you_ for the kind words, but these take an immense effort to grow, and I wouldn’t like to put any more pressure on you. Your work load is big enough as it is.” Bilbo said with a kind smile on his face while regarding the old man with respect. “Oh, and Dimple? I was thinking that, what with me turning thirty-two in about a month, maybe you could stop calling me by–”

“Ah, boy! Almost forgot to warn you,” the old farmer said while turning back to Bilbo and giving the basket to another worker that carried it away to where the rest of the laborers would eat later, “some military force’s going to arrive to Auenland during the following week or so. Thought you might want to know about it.”

The fair-haired man needed a few seconds to process what he had heard to really understand what had been said. “What?” Wincing at the lack of decorum in his response, Bilbo quickly corrected himself “I mean, what purpose would they have in Auenland?”

“ ‘m not quite sure, heard it had something to do with the Jew scum.”

Bilbo winced again. It was not like he was a hater of the nation’s political ways, or that he was thinking about becoming a rebel to the leadership of the _Fuhrer_ , he just stayed on neutral ground, performing his obligations as a German citizen and acting accordingly to his respectable bourgeois life. If he sometimes had to pretend to be a head-over-heels patriot and judge other kin to ensure his humble, cozy and _respectable_ (most important aspect of their family “heirloom”) life, then so be it. It was not like he was an actual _xenophobe_ , though he did dislike the use of excessively insulting words when referring to the mistreated races. It simply felt wrong to be so hard on someone you hadn’t had the privilege to meet.

“Ah… Dimple, I’m sure there are other more appropriate adjectives to describe their kin. Ones that wouldn’t make your parents wince if they had heard you.”

 

To Bilbo’s dismay, his words only achieved to incite the old man’s loud, booming laugh, “Ah, young Bilbo and his bourgeois modals. Take care, lad, there are not many kind-hearted boys left in here. And who knows how many would be left in the future.”

The short man had once again given up in changing Dimple’s habit of calling him a “lad”, and went back to his duties. Walking in a quick pace towards the village’s market, Bilbo started doing mental annotations of what replenishments needed the pantry. Cheese, that was for sure. He was also running short of meat, and it had been some long weeks since he had eaten fish, so those two were added to the list too. Fruits and almost all vegetables were provided by Bag Hill and the farming lands, so there was no particular need of those at the moment, though he remembered clearly that there was a shortage of something else in the pantry that he couldn’t quite remember…

 

“Oh, Master Baggins! It’s being quite a nice morning today, don’t you think?”

Turning to his left, Bilbo saw that the young kid from the Bayer family, who sold different wooden crafts in Auenland, was smiling widely towards him. The young girl, Bilbo remembered she had recently turned 15, was a responsible infant that helped her family as much as it was needed, and that was an aspect about the kid that Bilbo particularly admired in everyone who was younger than himself. Old Baggins’ habits.

“Quite nice indeed. Are you doing well today, Dora?”

“Yes! Yes, I’ve been feeling better recently. The medicinal herbs that you had arranged for my family have proven very effective. I’m whole heartedly grateful for your help, Master Baggins.”

“No need to thank me, little one,” the man answered with a warm smile, happy to hear that the kid had improved from the fever she had caught last week, “those were Belladonna’s work, we should all thank her for the dedication she had for the harvest of quite diverse plants, they come in handy. Do take care though; you still have a bit of rosy color around the cheeks.”

“Y-yes, will do, Master Baggins.”

“Pass on my regards to your parents, Dora, and have a nice rest of the day!”

 

After the brief encounter, Bilbo continued thinking about the products that he had still to buy, remembering sorely that he had forgotten to even take a cart with himself to carry everything back to the cottage. And eggs! That’s what was running out in the pantry.

“Oh, Bilbo dear, you seem a bit gloomy for such a bright day, is something the matter?”

Bramblerose Fuhrmann, née Ackermann, a woman a few years older than Bilbo  and daughter to Dimple Ackermann that worked in the post for meats, had been an acquaintance of his since his childhood, and the object of Belladonna’s teasing whenever romances were the topic of Bilbo’s and Belladonna’s chats. It was not like he had showed any particular interest in the woman. She was well mannered and cheerful, yes, but so were many others in Auenland. Besides, Bilbo had never really felt the urge to be especially close to any women. It might have saddened him during his youth not to have loved or be loved, but a bachelor life didn’t seem such a bad thing for the bourgeois now.

“Just a bit dismayed, Bramblerose. There is too much I was supposed to purchase today, and unfortunately I have forgotten to bring with me any kind of means of transport.”

“Well, that can be solved.” The woman answered happily before turning away and going inside the post. “Dear! Sweetheart! Come here for a second!”

Mr. Fuhrmann was a man closer to the age of his father that to Bilbo’s or Bramblerose’s, heavily built and with a kind smile for everyone that knew how to treat him well. Being a war veteran that had volunteered for the Great War, Pronto Fuhrmann inspired a great respect in all the kids of Auenland, which was a good thing on one side from Bilbo’s opinion, as he instilled a respectable attitude into the younger ones, but on the other side, the man was one of the most loyal followers of the ways of the Fuhrer in the village, and a hard-headed anti-Semitic to top it all. Not like his dark hair and brownish skin and eyes gave him much of an Aryan race appearance though.

“What is it, love? Oh, Mister Baggins, anything we can assist you with?”

“Actually, my dear, Bilbo here is going to need a ride in your cart. Well, not him, more like the products.”

“Oh, no, really, I wouldn’t like to impose on you in such a–”

“I’m out of time at the moment, but could ride it to Beutelsend this evening, would that be alright Mister Baggins?”

“Oh, well, most certainly, but there is no real need–”

“No need for that, Baggins!” the man said while backslapping Bilbo across the meat post with enough force to make the younger man choke on his words. “Your father had saved my life in the battle more than once, what would be of me if I can’t assist his son in such a stupid thing as carrying his things? Especially when you’re sure to buy from me! So, what would it be?”

Seeing as arguing was going to lead him nowhere, Bilbo accepted the help the Fuhrmann family offered him with no more discussion, except when Fuhrmann’s wife had offered to fetch the rest of the products he was in need of, but arguing about that had proven fruitless too.

“Don’t bother Bilbo, you know both I and my husband own your family a great deal, and your mother loss is probably coming difficult still for you, so please, let us aid you whenever we can.”

It wasn’t as if he disliked the lovable attitude of his village towards him, but sometimes Bilbo thought that they were all just overly too much, and it always had to do with Bungo and Belladona. Being treated so kindly on the behalf of his parents made him feel uncomfortable and a bit useless.

“And Bilbo, before I forget about it; it would seem someone was asking for you earlier today.”

“For me?” _Well, that is strange_ , thought the man a bit surprised by the news, _today is proving to be quite eventful_. “Did they state the business they had to do with me?”

“Just answered cryptically and turned away,” Pronto answered with a badly hidden scowl on his face, “didn’t like the man’s appearance. Didn’t look to me all that German.” _Oh, that’s why Fuhrmann seems so upset._ “Be careful, Baggins, he was asking around if you still lived in Beutelsend.”

“Oh, stop it, Pronto. Bilbo has never left Auenland, do you really think he’d have unsavory acquaintances?”

“Haven’t said I thought him to be Baggins’ friend. You know these Christ-killers, they have their secret means to obtain information, and god forbid I let them target Bungo’s son. Thank God some military force would be placed in this village soon enough, else we’d have found ourselves surrounded by that scum in no time at all. Soldiers know how to eradicate pests.”

 

Not willing to hear more pejorative chats, Bilbo thanked the Fuhrmann’s again, and walked back home, reaching Beutelsend not too late for his second breakfast.

He spent the rest of the morning taking care of the garden and completing other chores around the house, all the while thinking back to the strange man that had supposedly been asking for him. It was already strange to find someone not from Auenland roaming around the village, but for them to be directly foreigners, well, to say that it had never happened before Bungo and Belladonna would not be an exaggeration, and the villagers have always thought them to be just from the north of Germany, not from England. So who was this stranger that on top of everything else was asking whether Bilbo still lived in Beutelsend or not? Whoever knew Bilbo would not ask such a question. Where was he to go if he left Beutelsend? England had never been an option. He had never been in that country, never met any of the family that lived so far away and had never considered actually visiting any of them. In the past he was happy to spend the rest of his life with just his parents and the friends he had in Auenland. Now, with the political tension spreading through Europe, the mere thought of traveling to the islands was frowned upon.

The middle-aged bourgeois had ended pacing in the hall without even realizing it. After finishing his daily chores he was left aimless in the afternoon and dangerous thoughts started to cross his mind. What if that man was actually…? _No, impossible_. Through the haste of his inner rambling, the man had ended back in front of the vase where the lilies were. When Bilbo had actually noticed this, he let go of a deep sight and stared at the white lilies. Carefully, he caressed some of the buds with the fingertips of his right hand and observed them with resignation, but with a loving smile in his lips as memories of his mother flooded his mind.

Strange, the flowers were looking odd. It would seem that their color, instead of appearing a bit withered, had brightened up somehow. Surprised by the strange phenomenon, Bilbo lent in a bit closer to the buds to inspect them with more care. Just when he was inches apart from the lilies, some of the closed buds bloomed straight in front of his face, and the man could not stop his mouth from dropping.

However, the man did not have enough time to pay the strange event any mind as someone nocked on the front door. Cursing lightly, and then scolding himself for doing so, Bilbo went to get the door. Who could it be at this time of the day? It was a bit early for Fuhrmann to come by with the errand, but some land-worker might have come to Beutelsend in search for Bilbo’s assistance.

 

“I’m very sorry for delaying myself, mister,” the bourgeois answered with a very polite voice before looking up at the man that was standing in front of his entrance, “in what may I assist you?”

“Well, I’m pleased to hear you ask directly, Bilbo Baggins.” Answered a raspy old voice that Bilbo didn’t recognize immediately. That was when he look up, alarmed, at the man that he had opened the door for.

He was tall, very tall, and all his hair had already grayed out and was combed back into a low and accurate pony-tail, while on top of his head he carried an elegant black top hat. His beard, as grey as his hair, was nicely trimmed, and his face and demeanor carried a sort of ominously ageless aura. His clothes seemed just as elegant as the man itself; black and grey formal suit, elegantly polished shoes and a black raincoat that reached under his knees.

It was entirely all too much clothes. Bilbo was wearing only a loose white shirt, his earthy brown trousers and a pair of light shoes, and already he was feeling the heat of the day.

This man was definitely the one that Mr. Fuhrmann was referring to. And God, did he give bad vibes with his appearance. Surely there were other elegant attires that could allow the man pass through the village without attracting all the attention he has already called for himself. But the old man’s issues were not what Bilbo was worrying about, or at least not directly. What was worrying the middle-aged male was that _this_ strange fellow was actually looking for _him_ , ordinary and respectable Bilbo Baggins. The situation could only turn out bad for him and his much appreciated respectfulness.

“I’m very sorry to ask you this but, have we met before?”

“Oh Bilbo, and here I thought you remembered me. Do you offer your help to any stranger that knocks at your door?”

Slightly pissed by the man’s words, Bilbo tried to keep up his politeness. “Well, it is a well-known truth that strangers do not tend to knock on my door, sir.”

“True it is, because I am no stranger to you, Bilbo.”

The bourgeois felt the nagging of an incoming headache form all the riddle-like answers that the strange man was giving him. Bilbo was about to cast him away when realization hit him.

“Wait, Gandalf? Is it you?” the younger man asked with a disbelieving smile on his face, baffled to find himself in front of one of Belladonna’s best friends again.

With an all too now familiar smile, the old man answered calmly, “I am glad you remembered me, dear Bilbo, I was starting to fear that you had been too young when we first met.”

“Well, I- I still remember your fireworks,” answered Bilbo, not caring for eloquence at the moment, and finding it altogether very difficult to express all the feelings that were surging through him. He was so happy to meet again with the charming old man that had entertained him so many times back when he was just a little kid, not even five years of age. On the other hand, worry held him back from showing all the happiness he felt. What would happen if somebody saw the respectable Baggins hanging around with a _possible enemy_? The USSR was an ally only by interests, and everyone, even the dumbest, knew that their alliance with Germany could fall apart in any given moment. A bit nervously, Bilbo pressed on. “God, Gandalf, it has been so long! But please, do not stand there outside, come in.”

Saying his thanks, the Russian entered Beutelsend, and Bilbo, looking out for any eavesdropper, quickly closed his door and went in too.

To his surprise, the man had stopped right in front of the vase with the flowers that was in the hall, observing the bloomed ones with a quizzical sight.

“Lilies-of-the-valley, interesting.”

“Ah, yes, Belladonna loved them with an especial interest. I must say they look quite lovely here in the hall.”

“Indeed, they brighten up gloomy environments with the promise of ‘the return of happiness’.” The old man had said while looking at Bilbo with a cryptically arched smile on his face.

“Yes, well, it is quite true that Belladonna enjoyed playing with flower language. I must say the interest did not pass on to me.”

“That is quite a shame.” Gandalf kept on observing the lilies as if trying to read something, to get some strange information out of them that Bilbo could not understand.

The silence that was placed in the room was too uncomfortable for the young Baggins. He did enjoy silence sometimes, but when millions of questions were passing through his mind and none was able to be voiced, it only made him more nervous around Gandalf.

“Bilbo, there is a reason why I have traveled all the way to Auenland to see you, and there is no gentle way around it, so excuse me if I decide to be direct with you.”

“No, please be, I must admit I was wondering what brought you here, and I am sincerely not too pleased to beat around the bush when it comes to important issues. After all, whatever has brought you here from your homeland must be very important.”

Though nothing displeased more the middle-aged bourgeois than to be dragged into unsavory, possibly international, problems. He was only accepting to hear Gandalf on behalf of his mother.

“Very well then Bilbo. I find myself in the need of asking you for a favor of such greatness that, in other circumstances, I’d never think to request from you. But our times are growing restless, and lives are being put at stake, and I know of no one to be best fit for this than Belladonna’s son.”

The mention of Belladonna made the fair-haired man wince slightly. It was always about his parents, always about the greatness of their memory. Bilbo did not blame the rest of the world, he knew that both Belladonna and Bungo had been outstanding people, and that there was little one could do to surpass their brilliance and memory. That was not what annoyed the young Baggins. No, what annoyed Bilbo the most was that everyone thought it was alright to use their memory to maneuver the Baggins’ son as they pleased, without the slightest regard towards how that affected him.

With a sigh, Bilbo interrupted the too long speech he was being forced to listen to, but that he didn’t have the patience to endure, “Gandalf, I thought you said you’d make it brief. What business brings you to Auenland?”

“I came to share an adventure with you, Bilbo.”

“Adventures? Oh, no thank you very much. We Baggins are a respectful lot that do not wish for excitements a part from our daily routines. Finding our pantries lacking some products and having to go to the market at an unusual date would be the only _adventure_ I’d willingly accept.”

“Well, that is not how I remembered Belladonna’s son to be, if I may so myself.”

There, Belladonna again. Why did everyone have to mention his parents? It was hard enough to live through their loss without the rest of the world reminding him of it.

Still, the thought of his mother being upset at him for not listening to her good friend Gandalf made him maintain his composure and press on with the chat. “State your business Gandalf. Cease with the riddles.”

Placing his hands before his back and straightening himself, Gandalf looked sternly towards Bilbo, and made clear his demand; “I need you to hide some Jews for a short period of time.”

 _What?_  

“It would only be until I can find a secure way out of the country for them. I hope you are aware of the atrocities that are done to those of their kin that are arrested by national extremists who follow the words of Adolf Hitler. Something must be done to prevent more tragedies. These men that I am guarding need your help, Bilbo. It is of utmost importance that you assist them... are you quite alright there, Bilbo? You look a bit pale.”

Words evaded Bilbo’s consciousness, and he felt, not for the first time during the day, a bit out of breath, “What?”

“Oh, for the love of-, Bilbo, I need you focused right now, we cannot waste more time, it is already running out for us.”

Reacting badly towards being pressured, a habit he had gathered from her mother, Bilbo came back to his senses with a slowly building up rage “Well, I hope that you have anticipated the need for a few minutes where I sit down and try not to pass out, because I _am_ in need of those.” The bourgeois finished while walking out of the hall and into the sitting room, where he plunged himself in a comfortable armchair, before standing up again and going to fetch his pipe with _Old Toby_. He offered Gandalf one, but the gentleman had politely refused and waited for Bilbo to collect his wits. After a few puffs and some smoke rings disappearing against the celling of the room, Bilbo was ready to keep on with the conversation.

 “I just-, why me?”

“As I said before, I think no one would be better fit than Belladona’s–”

“Yes, yes, I know how that game goes. You mention my late mother and expect me to go and play along with you for the sake of her memory. You are not the first one to try that, Gandalf, and I am sorely disappointed with you for approaching me like that.”

“You have obviously misunderstood my point then, and belittled yourself, Bilbo.”

“Oh, that’s fresh.” The short man answered with a spiteful giggle, taking some more puffs from his pipe and relaxing against his armchair, while the reminiscing smell of the _Old Toby_ reached his nostrils. “Do inform me then of what I have misunderstood.”

“It is not Belladonna who I am asking a favor, dear Bilbo. I came here for you, and no one else.”

Those words hit directly in the spot with accurate precision, and Bilbo’s attention snapped from his pipe to the man that was standing firm across the room, next to the entrance to the corridor connecting with the rest of the rooms of the first floor.

“It is true that some of your virtues come as a result of Belladonna’s influence on you, and of Bungo’s strict morals and education too,” continued the old man while admiring the decoration of the sitting room, and then suddenly turning towards the younger man, “but you are your own self, Bilbo, and that is why I came in searching for your help. You are the man that can save the lives I’m seeing myself unable to protect any longer.”

“And what is a simple man like me able to do to protect other men that someone extraordinary like you cannot?”

“You are underestimating yourself again, Bilbo. It is your natural Took courage and your sensible Baggins side that would ensure this quest’s success.”

“All this-, all of what you are telling me makes no sense, Gandalf,” Bilbo continued speaking with worry in his voice, loosing part of his composed Baggins’ attitude and almost forgetting completely about his pipe. “I cannot understand what I can do to protect these people as you ask of me. Auenland is not a safe place for their kin.”

“On the contrary, Bilbo; Auenland is the safest place for them. Now more than ever.”

“I guess that you have not been informed then, Gandalf,” Bilbo continued speaking with a disbelieving look in his face and a light indignant puff in his cheeks, “a troop has been sent to Auenland, and they are due to arrive next week. It is the Fuhrer’s army, Gandalf; they are coming here to exterminate anything non-German. How am I supposed to protect a group of men from that?”

“I shall suppose that you are not well informed then, my friend, if you consider that the troop that is heading to this village would be a real burden to you. No, dear Bilbo. You should have seen what is happening in the big cities of Germany. Streets are swarmed up with military and no one is safe from their scrutiny, not even respectable citizens with an Aryan-race appearance. The small villages like The Sire are far safer, but Hitler’s fanaticism is stronger in these places, and that’s why military presence is not a priority. That’s when you come into the picture, Bilbo.”

“How would you know that I wasn’t a strong follower of the Fuhrer? You came all the way here, certain that Auenland would be full of anti-Semitic folk, and yet believed me not to be like the rest, how so?”

“Because, my friend, I have come to ask _you_ for help. I have known you since you were not higher than this,” Gandalf said with a little grin in his face while placing his palm at the height of his knee, “and I have always been sure that you would grow up to become a fine, respectable and _courageous_ young man. My expectations have not been misled. If not, you wouldn’t have even let me enter Beutelsend. I am aware my looks are not quite of a _respectable_ man around here.”

“No, you do look respectable, Gandalf. Just not… Aryan race.”

The old man chuckled with a mischievous glint in his eyes, but reminded silent for a while, observing the changes in Bilbo’s face. The bourgeois remembered that his pipe was still lit, and took some more poofs to relax his nerves. What Gandalf was asking him to do was beyond anything he could do. He was certain he would not accept it (he did not wish to risk all that was dear to him as a respectable citizen, all that his parents have worked so hard to obtain and that he treasured dearly), and yet there remained an odd nagging that pulled him forwards, that was pleading him for _an adventure_. Strange. That was too much of a Took instinct.

“Does that mean you accept the challenge?”

“I am sorry Gandalf,” the middle-aged man answered, standing up to empty the remains of _Old Toby_ in his pipe and remained hovering awkwardly over the back of his armchair, “I am really sorry. But this is too much for me.”

The old man regarded Bilbo with a glint of surprise, but it lasted for brief seconds before a mask of thoughtful consideration spread through Gandalf’s face.

“You must understand it, I cannot risk _this_ ,” said the middle-aged man while he spread his arms and looked around, making clear that he was referring to Beutelsend, “ _this_ is all my parents have left as a memory of their existence, and I must protect it above anything else. I loved them dearly, Gandalf. I cannot disrespect their memory by risking what they spent their whole lives working on for the sake of some strangers.”

“Do you mean to say that this,” Gandalf spread his arms in a mockery-imitation of the younger’s man recent gesture, “this material, cold, _perishing_ bricks is all that Belladonna and Bungo had ever wished for, instead of you?”

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but immediately felt that words evaded him, and closed it back again. Seeing as he had left the young Baggins speechless, Gandalf’s grin spread out.

“Not Belladonna, nor Bungo, had raised you to protect something as unimportant as Beutelsend. Buildings do not feel, do not remember, and definitely do not _love_. Bilbo, your parents have procured you Beutelsend to ensure their only son’s wellbeing. It is _you_ who matters.”

“Taking your words as truth, should I throw my life away and risk being caught hiding a group of Jews in my home then? Is that how I am supposed to honor my parents?”

“No, of course not, Bilbo. You could try honoring your parents by showing them that the kid they raised has grown up to be a courageous man, willing to stand on his own two feet and refuse to allow any more injustice to happen in your own homeland. You could prove that Belladonna has raised you properly, and that Bungo has taught you the right way to live. You could be the living memory of the greatness of your parents, but that is entirely up to you.”

The bourgeois felt his feet trembling under the weight of his tired body, and he felt the need to sit back down on his favorite armchair. His senses had become slightly numb, not just because of the speech he had just heard coming out of Gandalf (a man who he involuntarily respected deeply and considered full of wisdom), but because he was starting to see the proposition with another light. If his parents were alive, would they be willing to help Gandalf, or would they be terrified like Bilbo?

No, not terrified. Belladonna was a Took, she had never been afraid of enduring what life had stored up for her, not even when her husband lied ill in his deathbed, drained by the influenza. Sad? Certainly, but not afraid, never afraid.

And what to say about good Bungo? Gentle Bungo, who had never held a gun in his tiny hands, had gone to the Great War because it had been _his duty_ to his homeland, because he felt the need to protect what was dear to him. And Bilbo? What has Bilbo done to make them justice?

He woke up early in the mornings, had eaten at the common hours and taken care of himself. He had taken care of the workers and of the people of Auenland too, yes, but was that really enough? Was that enough to honor every effort that his parents had given to raise him properly?

The short man murmured his answer lightly, in such a low tone that Gandalf had to come closer and ask him to repeat what he had just said because he had been unable to hear him out.

“I said that-, that alright,” repeated Bilbo, looking up from his shoes to face the older man who was now standing in front of him, “I will do it. I will protect your men, or try to, if anything, as much as I would be able to.”

Smiling warmly, Gandalf pated lightly Bilbo’s back while his smile spread onwards. “You’ve made the right decision, Bilbo Baggins.”

“I just hope you are right in that too, Gandalf.”

“Do not worry, my friend. I shall tell the company to come by your house tomorrow when the dark comes. Expect them to be hungry and tired though. They have been on the road for a long time. Now I must go. Take care Bilbo.”

“What? You mean you won’t stay for lunch?” The bourgeois exclaimed with utmost surprise, feeling a bit disappointed for not being able to extend his Baggins courtesy to his mother’s friend. “I am sure your voyage has been not less extenuating, I could offer you a room too if you were in need of it.”

“Nonsense, Bilbo. You’d better prepare the rooms for your future visitors and worry about their nourishment instead of mine, as I cannot remain here for any longer today. Many things are waiting to be solved before tomorrow’s evening comes. Have a good rest of the day, Bilbo!”

The middle-aged bourgeois did not have time to argue with Gandalf before the man in question had stormed out of Beutelsend and closed the door, leaving poor Bilbo standing bemused in the middle of the hall, a bit at loss of what to do and starting to regret his “emotional stupidity” for getting the best out of him by making rushed decisions that the man knew he’d start to regret in no time at all.

 

Too confused with his own thoughts, Belladonna’s and Bungo’s son did not become aware of the lilies blossoming fully in the hallway, shining with a bright and promising white color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter updates would be, if possible, regularly on Sundays. The fic is supposed to be a long one, so I'll try to do the bunny plot enough justice.  
> If you want to comment about the fic, or simply have a chat, I can be found in tumblr by the nick of "shippinglifeaway" ^^
> 
> EDIT: well, it seems that I am far too slow writing and my chapters only get longer as I plan them, so I'll be trying to post a chapter every 2 weeks. If everything goes well, chap 2 would be up late on Saturday 12/10/2014  
> I apologize to those who were expecting an update the previous Saturday, and hope you could have a bit of patience with my speed.


	2. Aster & Daffodil, with a lack of Camellias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wellp, this took longer than it should have. It's been over 6 months since my last update, and even though it may seem as if I'm dropping the work, I'd like to assure everyone that I have the intention of finishing this, the only problem I have right now is uni, and hopefully summer would prove to be the solution to that. Anyways, the original chapter was supposed to be longer, but it was already over 20k so I cut it down in two parts. The next bit would be uploaded during mid-late June. Hope you enjoy this bit!

**II. Aster & Daffodil, with a lack of Camellias**

Indeed, it did not take too much time for Bilbo to go on a remorse rampage. Pacing around the main corridor in the first floor, the middle-aged man felt his desperation building up and his nerves wearing him out. Because why, oh why had he been so stupid? Now that the effects of the flattery dissipated into the depth of the man’s memory, he was able to grasp in the idea of the situation that he has just willed himself into. Oh yes, Gandalf had been smart; a smart, old man that Bilbo will definitely have some words with the next time they meet. After all, pleasing a naïve Baggins, who had his Took senses numbed many years ago, with sweet words and praises was nothing close to fair-play, and it was definitely not a polite thing to do with someone who was younger than yourself _and_ that had been a respectful host to you, disregarding the dangers he was facing by extending a helpful hand.

However, in the end it had been all Bilbo’s fault for extending his hand too far and letting himself be bitted, and the bourgeois was aware of it. This realization did not help the man to ease his nervousness, though. If anything, it only served him to fuel his worries and transforms the usually tranquil Baggins into an anxious wreck. His pacing through the corridor had slowly evolved into a full on wandering through Beutelsend’s first floor, and at some point after Gandalf’s exit, Bilbo’s shoes ended lying messily in the kitchen’s room, leaving the man walking on his bare, slightly big feet for his short height.

It was an unconscious attempt at easing his nerves. As a kid, young Bilbo had always enjoyed the feel of the ground under his feet, regardless of the texture that he’d been walking on. There was something fascinating about the feeling of grass under his toes, of soft, earthy dirt molding under his heel’s pressure or of the warmed by the sun stone paths that tingled his toe mounds when he tiptoed them barefoot. His strange hatred for shoes was of course stopped by Bungo whenever his father caught him “engaging in such inappropriate” behavior, and after the older Baggins’ death, Bilbo had adopted, in honor of Bungo’s memory, a completely respectable attitude that had restricted him of his childhood pleasures. Still, sometimes the bourgeois indulged himself with the feeling of the soft carpets of Beutelsend caressing his bare feet, though that was something he did when no one could see him and was kept as his shameful, greatest secret.

Allowing himself this little pleasure now that nobody could see him, the man curled his toes under the soft touch of his favorite carpet, made by Belladonna herself. It was not something very luxurious-looking; on the contrary, it was a little, a bit irregular piece of puffy, earthy-colored wool that was placed in front of the door to the back garden, which was the reason why it looked a bit dirty too. Not that Belladonna’s son minded. The woman had been skilled in different crafts, especially in gardening, but sewing and weaving were not her forts. Bilbo could actually remember that Christmas day, a year after his father had left for the Great War, in which his mother had tried to sew him a woolen sweater with different animal patterns. The result had been an extremely over-sized, overly-thick piece of garment with colorful, strangely-shaped dots all over it. Bilbo would tease Belladonna by referring to her creation, with a mockery tone, as the “Dotted Monster”, but would still wear it with love. After all, it did fulfill his function during the cold winters.

Looking up from the carpet and staring at the door to “Bag-Hill”, Bilbo couldn’t help but sigh. He hadn’t realized how often he had unconsciously walked towards Beutelsend’s garden as of recently, and it all pointed it to be a new habit of his when anxious. Standing there again, anticipating the beautiful sight that awaited him were he to open the door, had however eased his mind and a wave of unexpected happiness overtook him. His mood-swings should have worried the middle-aged man, but he couldn’t care less for those minor, changing aspects of his life at the moment. All he needed then was a moment for himself, a moment in which he could evade the reality in which he had been sucked, in which he could forget the dangers that he had willingly accepted and brought into Beutelsend and his life.

However, the instant the man placed his hand on top of the door’s knob, a knock from the main entrance was heard. It was a sturdy, sonorous and almost demanding sound that sent chills down Bilbo’s spine. _It couldn’t be…? No! Gandalf said they’d be here by tomorrows night!_

A bit in a rush, Bilbo moved towards the front door, stopping by the arch that lead into the kitchen when he noticed through the room’s window that, outside, the Sun was shining brightly and high in the sky. _It isn’t even night time! What are they trying to do? Get us all in danger?_

Taking a run towards the entrance, the bourgeois almost forgot to put on some slippers on, not even caring about going back to the kitchen to fetch his decent-looking shoes, before opening the door. His facial expression had, however, turned into complete confusion when the man who was standing behind Beutelsend’s door was not someone who he was expecting.

 

“Whoa, there Baggins. You’re looking quite a mess. Something wrong?”

It took Bilbo a few seconds to realize that there was someone speaking to him, and that that someone was not precisely Jewish, but a German he had known for a long time now. In fact, the man in question was quite anti-Semitic. Meeting his eyes, the middle-aged man blinked a few times before noticing that an answer from his side was in order.

“Oh, eh,” Bilbo answered unable to collect his wits, “No! No, everything is alright, good, eh, perfect! Yes. It’s being a nice day don’t you think?” the man said while looking around at the sky with forced admiration.

“You look a bit disheveled.” Pronto Fuhrmann continued on with a suspicious look, as if he was trying to understand the strangeness that he was seeing in Bilbo.

“Do I?” the bourgeois said with preoccupation, trying to look at what he could correct of his appearance, “Oh, I do, don’t I? I should apologize for the state in which I came to receive you; I was just… working in the garden.”

“Wearing slippers?”

The middle-aged man shot his sight immediately down to look disbelievingly at his own feet. Right, his shoes were in the kitchen. Forcing a smile, he looked up again at Mr. Fuhrmann and tried to find a way out of the mess he had just put himself into. _This is already a mess, Bilbo, and Gandalf’s_ company _hasn’t even arrived yet!_

“Oh, that,” the short man laughed lightly while trying to muster a good enough answer, “I blame it on my _bourgeois_ Baggins weirdness. You know, we do things a bit out of impulse, sometimes.”

Fortunately, his words had been enough of an excuse to change the suspicious mood that had been instilled into their conversation and provoke a boisterous laughter from Pronto. As per usual, the tall man backslapped the bourgeois with enough force to knock the air out of him and make the shorter man choke on whatever other words he had planned on saying, leaving him merely wishing that all the previous awkwardness would fall into oblivion.

“Ah, Baggins, you and your funny manners!” Pronto said while whipping tears out of his eyes. “Anyways, I’ve brought you your things. Let me help you get them in.”

“No, no! That will not be necessary, Mister Fuhrmann, I’ve already asked you far too much help–”

“Mister, again?” the older man said with amusement in his voice while going back to his cart, which stood on the road next to the Baggins’ cottage, and lifted a heavy-looking sac. “I thought we agreed on surnames if first names were too difficult for you, Baggins. Mister is too honorable for someone like me. Now, off the way; a potato’s sac isn’t a light thing.”

“Potatoes?” Bilbo asked with surprise while automatically letting Pronto enter Beutelsend. Even though the middle-aged man wouldn’t like to admit it, bossy voiced commands from people that intimidated him worked almost like a spell on the fair-haired Baggins. “I-, I do not quite remember writing potatoes down in the list your wife asked me to procure her…”

“Well, that’d be because these are a gift from the Bayer’s. Said their harvest had been good and wanted to share with you or something like that. Some other families have put other things in the cart too. Saying it so that you won’t keep asking me where everything comes from.”

The bourgeois had wanted to protest, but his spirit died away the moment he saw how the older man had walked into the hallway without taking off his dirty boots and trod on Beutelsend’s beautiful, clean carpets. With every muddy footprint that was left, Bilbo’s wince grew nastier and nastier, but the younger man kept a quiet inner argument on whether asking Pronto to get his boots off would be polite or not, what with the man helping him carry his things inside without expecting any kind of payment, so he walked behind Fuhrmann silently, following the man to the pantry.

“I’ll leave it here with the rest of your vegetables”, the older man said not looking back to Bilbo (in whose face he would have noticed a poorly hidden displeased grimace), observing instead the room as if trying to memorize where everything was lying, probably in order to know where to leave the rest of the products that he had still to bring.

Turning around, the man did not give enough time for Bilbo to form any audible response as all his efforts were wasted on pulling a gentle and polite smile, for he was a Baggins, and his family took pride in their hosting abilities. However, when Pronto walked back to the hallway with his dirty boots, the bourgeois could not stop his words from slipping out of his mouth.

“Uh, Fuhrmann, maybe, if it was not too much of a burden to you, you could get your boots off? Please?”

The taller man turned to look at Bilbo with a surprise look in his face, as if he couldn’t quite understand what the younger man was asking of him. Then, by mere chance, he caught a glimpse of the floor he had just trod on, and saw the mess that he had made out of the carpets in the hallway and main corridor.

“Oh boy, the carpets, right? Sorry Baggins, my fault.”

“No, no! No need to apologize. I will clean them later. In fact, I was struggling to find something to do with my time, so no worries at all”

The man, smiling lightly because of the shorter man’s overly polite speech, proceeded then to remove his shoes and placed them just outside Beutelsend’s green entrance. Barefoot, Pronto continued carrying the products that Bilbo had the intention of purchasing the other day inside the cottage. To the younger man’s dismay, making Pronto remove his shoes had proven of little improvement as when the man walked back to the cart and back towards the pantry, his feet were covered in dust and dirt, and more footprints were left on the carpets.

“Fuhrmann, really, there is no need in carrying all the things to the pantry.” Bilbo attempted to keep the man from dirtying any more of his house in a subtle and polite way. “You could just leave them at the door and I would carry them myself.”

It was too much to hope for Pronto to understand the real meaning of the bourgeois pleas, though. “Nonsense, nonsense. What would your tiny arms do if you had to carry something heavy? Your kind was not built for this stuff.”

Resigned, Bilbo stood at the entrance of Beutelsend’s pantry, carrying a grim expression when Fuhrmann was not in sight, and pointed to where the man should leave all the products he had brought to his house.

“And that should be it. Now you’re restocked for a month’s time.” The older man said with mockery in his voice.

“Yes, so it would seem. How much do I own you and the rest of Auenland’s people who has been so kind as to help me out with this?”

“Ha! That’s a good one, Baggins. You bourgeoisies are a funny lot.”

“I am being serious, Fuhrmann. If you do not delve into giving me a number, I will choose it for you.”

“Fancy words won’t change my mind. Your parents have done enough to pay all this and more. Everyone in Auenland thinks the same.”

“I am glad you all think so highly of my parents, but they are not the ones who will consume what you have offered me.” Bilbo said while fumbling in his pockets. When finding the quantity of coins he was carrying with himself was not enough for what he wanted pay, the younger man decided to fetch some more coins in the second floor.

“I will be right back. Please, do not leave in my absence, because if you do so and refuse to take the money, I would find myself forced to tell your wife how you have dirtied Belladonna’s favorite carpets today for not taking your boots off when inside Beutelsend.”

“Whoa there, Baggins, that’s a low-blow.” A boisterous laugh erupted from Pronto, who stood in his place laughing fanatically. “Wasn’t aware you were able of such a thing!”

Smiling faintly before leaving for the second floor, the fair-haired man walked in long strides towards his room. The second floor had been originally reserved for visitors, and it had four bedrooms, each with their own personal, little bathroom (running water had been installed by Bungo in the early 1900’s), and a big common room that was usually used for the company that stayed at Beutelsend as a place to chip-chat in late night hours. However, after Bungo’s death, both Belladonna and Bilbo had moved from the third floor to the second, simply because it had been easier to move around this way, without having to climb two stories all the time.

The bourgeois’ new bedroom was a cozy, not to big room with two beds, a sturdy-looking closet and a desk constantly full of paperwork that the man usually preferred not to attend to until it was of utmost importance to complete the work. With the knowledge of where to look, Bilbo headed straight for the work-table and opened one of the lower drawers, where a small metallic box could be found. He extracted from it several coins, and when he deemed it enough, closed the box, organized everything back to how it was and went downstairs to meet with Fuhrmann, who was still waiting for him, barefoot, in the corridor.

“I am glad you have decided to listen to me at least this time.”

“Not like there was any other option.” The man answered with a teasing tone. The middle-aged man extended then his right hand while he took Pronto’s left hand in his other one and brought them together, making it impossible to reject the money offered or even to directly see how much it had been.

“Here you are, fifty Reichsmarks.”

As expected, the older man’s eyes grew wide at the realization of what Bilbo had just so easily placed in his hand. Still a bit startled, Pronto tried to take his hand back before all the Reichsmarks were in his hand, which only made some coins fall to the carpeted floor. With a bit of sadness in his face, the younger man kneeled resignedly and collected the few coins that had been dropped and tried to pass them back again to Fuhrmann, who responded by unconsciously backing away slightly.

“Baggins, this is too much even for a joke.”

“You know I never joke with money, Fuhrmann. Especially not in these times.” Bilbo tried to extend the hand with the Reichsmarks again to the tall man, but this time he gained no reaction from Pronto, except a slight glance down to his fist.

“Those are enough to–”

“To pay all the seven families who have been kind enough to extend their gratitude to me.” Bilbo had interrupted, not carrying for impoliteness when trying to evade another long argument with Pronto. “Keep fifteen Reichsmarks for your family, Fuhrmann; after all, a sac full of potatoes is not a light weight.”

“Baggins, you can’t think I- or anyone for the matter, will accept this much for just some products.”

“No, I do not think so, I am merely expecting you to do as I tell you, at least this time. Winter will come, and then we will all be in the need of some coin in our pockets. Auenland’s people are too proud for their own good sometimes, and I am aware that, when the time of need comes, you would not accept any of my help, so I can very well start preparing you now.”

“Baggins–”

“Please, I would only ask you of this. If you held so much respect for my parents, please, accept this one thing from me.”

Holding down any words that he had expected to come up with, Pronto kept himself silent, and after a few seconds, accepted back the last coins that Bilbo had given him, placing them in his jacket’s pocket.

“One day, your kindness will damage you, Baggins.”

Bilbo had intended to smile at that statement, but instead he remembered that in about twenty-four hours he would be hiding a group of Jewish folk in his cottage, for God knows how long, because he had felt the urge to defend them form any more _injustices_. An involuntary sad grin crept into his face, and the bourgeois could only hope that it didn’t become very obvious. Fortunately, Fuhrmann had still something else to tell the younger man and wasn’t paying enough attention to Bilbo’s facial expressions.

“Just one more thing; I’ve seen that weirdo walking nearby again, around Auenland’s outskirts and too damn close to your house. Noticed him just when riding here. He gives me bad vibes.” The tall man continued speaking, but his words had become loud meaningless sounds to Bilbo when Gandalf’s mention had sent cold chills down the younger man’s spine. _Why is that man so careless?_ “Be careful, Baggins, and if you need any help, you know that we’re always ready for you.”

Their chat had lasted a few more minutes after that, and soon enough the older man was departing Beutelsend, leaving Bilbo to his own devices and worries. His head was spinning and his nerves only made more adrenaline rush through his already weakened body, making him restless and nauseous. The bourgeois wished to lie down for a few minutes, or hours even if it would give him the peace he was lacking. But he knew that remaining idle would do him no good, Belladonna had made sure of that, so in the end he opted for occupying his time with some productive activity, after retrieving his shoes, of course.

The carpets had to be cleaned, that was the first task to do, after he had prepared and eaten his lunch of course, for which he was already running a tad late. Once these were hanged carefully on the clothesline, Bilbo proceeded immediately to clean the rest of the first floor that had been messed during Fuhrmann’s wandering. At some point in his cleaning haste, Mrs. Luft had knocked on Beutelsend’s door and Bilbo’s nervousness came back, fearing that Gandalf’s words hadn’t been true once more. However, Myrtle Luft’s tranquil demeanor eased the bourgeois temper and gave the middle-aged man’s mind some other task to focus on. The woman, a few years younger than Bilbo himself, was one of the Baggins farm’s workers and had come to visit Beutelsend because she was feeling a bit ill and had a headache that the woman hoped the bourgeois would help her with.

 

“I’m sorry to bother you, Bilbo, but I thought you may have something useful in your back garden.”

“Certainly, Myrtle. Come on in. Could you wait a few minutes in the living room, if it is not too much of a nuisance? Also, could you describe how are you feeling? It might help me to find you a more suitable herb.”

“Oh, yes, well, I’m feeling simply drained, and there’s this dull sense in my head that gets really painful whenever I open my eyes too much or look into light, or whenever there’s a loud noise… I’m sorry; I’m not very helpful, am I?”

Oh, no, no, I actually think you might be having a migraine? Do not worry, I think there may be some herb that could help you ease the pain. I will be right back.”

“Take your time, dear, I’m already imposing too much on you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; as a good land-owner, and a Baggins, I must take care of you as best as I can.” The bourgeois said with a cheeky remark while walking the woman to the living room and offering her a comfortable armchair to sit down. “Now, please, take a seat. I won’t take more than five minutes.”

 

Walking diligently, the man reached Bag-Hill and went almost automatically for the corner where Belladonna had grown “useful plants”, as Bungo liked to call them. It was a mixture of different herbs that where either simply aromatic or that could flavor an afternoon’s hot drink, and others with some medicinal aspects. Feverfew and Chamomile were grown close to each other, and so Bilbo didn’t have to search too much to find both flowers. _Feverfew will ease the effects of the migraine, yes, I’ll have her take a good bouquet, and Chamomile will be useful for the pain release_.

As hard as he had fought the memories, they still filled his mind when the aroma of both flowers reached his nostrils. Brave, joyful Belladonna and plump, gentle Bungo, standing in Beutelsend’s front door, crying silent tears with Bilbo by their side, not grasping the entirety of his father’s goodbyes. Then, all of a sudden, Bilbo’s mother had asked both of them to wait for her while she excused herself and walked away to the main corridor of the first floor. When she came back a few minutes later, she was carrying two flowers with her. The woman placed one of them, a brightly bloomed feverfew, in his husband’s shirt pocket, and the other one, a chamomile bud, in her own hair, and to the kid’s surprise, the little wordless ritual had been enough to calm both of his parents while familiar smiles spread through their faces. It all had been a bit of a mystery for the younger Baggins through the years until his mother had decided to teach him some flower language. After that the bourgeois had no doubts about what secret message had been exchanged between the married couple all those years ago. An “ _I wish for your protection_ ” and an “ _I will wait for you_ ” were lovely enough promises that coming for dear Belladonna could only mean that she was sincerely and deeply in love.

Stepping back into reality, the man went into the Bag-Hill’s shed and got some gardening scissors and gloves once again that day. After cutting some six stems of feverfew and three of chamomile, Bilbo went back into his house, not forgetting to clean his shoes against Belladonna’s carpet. Meeting with Mrs. Luft again, the bourgeois explained how she should brew her feverfew infusions and that she should drink them once every day during the following month to reduce migraine’s effects, and that chamomile’s brew would help her ease the pain should de other flower not suffice. After exchanging some pleasantries, Myrtle excused herself and Bilbo was left to his devices once again.

The man spent the rest of his day in a more relaxed state of mind after being able to focus on not being idle. He had even finished and organized the enormous amount of paperwork that had piled on his desk, something that, given any other circumstances, he would have detested doing. What the Bourgeois was not expecting was bead-time. Not even a hot, long, relaxing bath had eased him enough to just lie down and fall asleep. No, sleep did not come easy to him, and evaded the middle-aged man for hours. Bilbo could not bring himself out of the state of constant anxiousness he was immersed in while being physically idle. His hands itched him to do something manual, his feet asked him to have a run and his mind cried for something else to focus on instead of turning paranoid over the dangers that were about to be part of his daily life, while his body screamed out of exhaustion and weariness for the eventful day he had spent. The man only lost consciousness when his body simply couldn’t maintain itself going, and that would have ensured a dreamless night from Bilbo’s experience, except this time it did not.

At first, everything was slightly blurry and baffling. Bilbo found himself standing in front of a building he didn’t recognize immediately, surrounded by a sight he was sure he had seen somewhere before. Then it clicked. It was Beutelsend before 1914, with its brightly painted green door and a fancy looking fence, not looking old because of the humidity and the lack of care for years. To his left he could see in the distance a healthy-looking Auenland, no doubt preparing the incoming autumn festival. No trace of the only bomb that fell upon the eastern side of the town during the Great War could be seen, and all the buildings remained unscratched.

Only then did Bilbo look down at himself. He was back to his six year old self; slim because of all of his adventurous mornings but still pretty much petite for his age, his light brown curls messy, and his pants dirtied and raged at the knees. Next to him there was a bicycle lying, looking properly broken, though it was not simply any random bicycle; it was Bungo’s birthday present to the young Baggins for his recently acquired seven years. Bilbo remembers how surprised and happy he had been when in the evening of his birthday his father had brought from the shed a little bike and that when he was told that it was going to be his own he had raced towards it desperate to try his new present that same instant. His parents would then help him learn how to ride the vehicle, and when the time for the big dinner came, the Baggins marriage spent at least ten minutes coaxing their kid to let go of his present. However, through the rest of the day, Bilbo couldn’t seem to think of anything else besides riding his new bike, and both Bungo and Belladonna started to worry for their kid’s safety as he still was unable to maintain his balance without some help, and the roads near Beutelsend were not precisely smooth. The bourgeois remembers how his father made him promise that he would not try to ride without him the following morning, as Bungo would be leaving to attend the farm.

Yet the promise was not kept, not because young Bilbo thought ill of his parents or wanted to disobey them, but because he found himself unable to resist the temptation that was his new present.

Now the new bicycle was lying at an awkward angle next to the green door, dirty-looking just like its owner. Belladonna would be the first one to receive Bilbo just in front of the house, looking quite disappointed but not particularly angry. However, the young Baggins was lucky enough to be caught by his father just when he was about to take the bike inside the cottage and hide it. Bungo did not get angry with him, he never did. He only looked down at his only son sternly; his arms crossed with a neutral but imposing face and then signaled Bilbo to follow him inside while taking the bike into the shed again. He guided the young Bilbo into the kitchen and sat him on a high stool, and started examining the little bruises on his son’s knees. His wife would come inside carrying some disinfectant and bandages, but Bilbo’s father would then insist on _“taking care of this himself”_ , kneeling in front of his son’s knees and cleaning the bloody wounds. The silence instilled into the room was, however, too much for the young Baggins to bear.

“Dad-, I’m sorry”

After exhaling a long sight, Bungo would finally speak. “Bilbo, do you think your parents would ask something of you for no reason? Or that we mean for you not to have fun?”

“No, Dad.”

“Look down here, please.” Bungo said pointing towards Bilbo’s wounds and looking directly into the boy’s eyes. “This is why me and Bella were worried to leave you go alone with the bike. We worry for your wellbeing, Bilbo; can you not understand that, boy?”

“I’m sorry, Dad, I will not do it again.” The young bourgeois said while trying to hide his face from his father’s intense gaze. Some kids were scared of their parents’ shouts or their uncontrolled rage, but for little Bilbo, there was nothing more frightening than the silent scrutiny he was subjected to by his father. Belladonna was not much in the style of imposing herself upon his son; she usually got Bilbo (and almost anyone else) to do what she asked them to with the sole use of her charm.

“Bilbo, listen; it is not simply about you getting hurt. Can you walk?” Bungo said while standing up and looking down at Bilbo’s legs wondering if his son was not in too much pain to follow him.

The bourgeois, in his young self-version, stood up from the stool and followed his father through the blurry looking rooms of Beutelsend. It was not really difficult to notice some odd discrepancies with reality and realizing that it was all just a dream, but what finally brought Bilbo to realize that he was indeed just asleep was his father’s parents portray standing tall in the first floor’s common room. He had seen this same painting once in his lifetime, but it was much smaller in size and looked quite somber, and was as a matter of fact, never exposed so openly in Beutelsend. Bungo had kept it in his bedroom, not out of family love, but as a reminder that his parents had not allowed him to marry the only person he would ever love and that, against every ill omen that he had received from the rest of the Baggins, he had succeeded to become a man that could stand on his own two feet.

“Look here Bilbo,” the old Baggins said while he stood close to the portray, “these are my parents. Though my relationship with them has never been an appropriate one, especially not during the last time I saw them, I can be proud to say they taught me the most important lesson of my life, and the most remarkable Baggins’ trade-mark; never break a promise.”

Bilbo’s first reaction was to feel ashamed, and he slowly lowered his face until the only thing he was focused on was his blurry looking feet. He didn’t know how he noticed it, because the bourgeois was sure he did not feel it directly on his skin, but Bungo’s hand on his arm brought his sight back to his father. It was a numb feeling, almost feathery-like and probably a mere illusion caused by the sight of the physical contact, but it still had been enough to give Bungo back his attention.

“There is no need to feel ashamed about your acts, boy. Everyone makes mistakes, and only life experience can teach us the right way to proceed. When I decided that I would marry your mother, both my parents were against it. Sweet Bella was not well liked for her adventurous and _indecorous_ attitude, but I had promised her, promised that I would marry her and cover her in the best commodities that any English-lady could ever dream of. Had I obeyed my parents and disregarded their dearest lesson, nothing of what we now have would have come to be real. I would have remained a heart-broken bachelor, your mother would have probably been married to some other noble-man against her will, and you, dear Bilbo, would not have come to this life.”

The boy didn’t know what to answer after such a long speech, but he had the feeling that everything was heading towards some other end, that it all was not simply a lesson for the younger Baggins to learn, but that there was an underlying meaning he was missing. The silence that had been instilled after Bungo finished his speech, keeping his sight towards his parents’ portray, was soon interrupted when the older man turned his attention back to his son. Bungo kneeled in front of the young bourgeois placing both his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders, and suddenly the blurriness of the world surrounding the kid disappeared and everything became much brighter, even a bit blinding in certain spots, leaving his father’s face enchanted with an angelic halo.

“Remember, Bilbo; a Baggins always keeps their promises.”

 

When the man had opened his eyes, he had noticed the light presence of piled up tears and that he was back to his thirty-two self. The bourgeois had always thought that his parents loss was already far behind in his past, but then there were this kind of times in which sentimentalism overtook his senses. The fact that Bungo had delivered his last words with such a loving face and voice during the brightest part of the dream did not, of course, help Bilbo ease his nostalgia. Looking through the window, the bourgeois noticed that that the Sun had not yet raised properly, only a thin line of light could be seen in the horizon, but he knew there was no way he’d fall asleep again for the short two slumber hours he had left, so the man opted to make it an early day, even if his body was still weary from the previous day. After all, there were too many things he had to prepare for the night.

_“A Baggins always keeps their promises.”_

 

Before breakfast time, Bilbo took care of the dried carpets and placed them back in place and then headed for the pantry in order to take notes of what he had stored in there. It had been a good thing that Auenland’s people decided to bring some more supplies to Beutelsend, because the man could not for the love of God make any credible excuse as to why would he need  to go two consecutive days to the market and purchase enough products to feed a troop of hungry men.

While he got himself some eggs and cereals with yogurt, the bourgeois started planning the night’s big dinner. Gandalf’s men were sure to be hungry, so some excess would be understandable. A good Goulash soup with big chunks of pork meat-, _wait, wasn’t pork a tricky issue with their folk?_

Bilbo stood up quickly and, leaving his breakfast unattended, walked towards his pantry. Chicken he had, but that would not do well for the broth. Luckily, there was some beef left that the man could use for the soup, though that meant that he’d have to use chicken for the meat pie he had planned for the second course. The bread was not a problem though, all the ingredients needed for the traditional Baggins’ seed bread were found in plenty, so the planning relied now only on the side dishes and the sweets for after dinner. While sitting back to finish his breakfast, Bilbo considered preparing some salads that could both combine with the meat pie and be eaten individually if any of the men were to have any problems with eating meat. _Better safe than sorry_. By the end of his meal, the bourgeois had planned on preparing a Sauerkraut salad, potato gratin and Turkish style grilled eggplant as a side dishes for the second course and some dumplings, roasted cauliflower salad and potato pancakes as a substitute for the meat pie. He then considered some deserts while cleaning after his breakfast and the idea of an apple pie pleased him deeply. If Gandalf’s men did not like him after being offered such a big feast, Bilbo didn’t know what would.

But before getting anything done for the night, the man had to go and check the fields’ and laborers’ state. As per usual he reminded everyone not to over exhaust themselves, but was careful not to offer assistance at his place, in case they came during the late hours and run into the group of refugees he was supposed to look after. Once that was done, he walked quickly towards Beutelsend to start preparing everything for the company’s arrival, and only then he asked himself the really terrifying question.

_How many of them would there be coming?_

 

The bourgeois couldn’t help but feel a bit stupid all of a sudden. That question would have been the first one coming out of his mouth before even considering accepting the Russian’s proposal if he had been in a sensible state of mind. Alas, that had not been his case, as the flattery thrown at him had been too over the top for his brain to function reasonably. Now the man found himself forced to make assumptions and blind guesses that were bound to be wrong.

A group of people obviously implied more than two people, if not Gandalf would have stressed the fact that it were only a pair of men he had to hide; it would have given the impression that their protection was easy. Three was a reasonable number, but Bilbo had the feeling that things would not be _reasonable_ if the Russian messed with them, so he should better prepare himself for the worst possible number of refugees. Four seemed already quite perilous, and the bourgeois could not imagine how such a big group could have travelled through Germany without being caught yet. But, just in case, the bourgeois considered preparing to host five people, just in case Gandalf had too many surprises hided in his long sleeves.

Five people could be accommodated in Beutelsend without problems, even if they decided not to sleep in the same rooms. They would even have the possibility of choosing in what bed they would be sleeping, as there were a double bed and an individual one per room, though if everyone was to have an individual room Bilbo would probably have to be moved to the third floor back to his room and lend his parents’ room to some stranger, which was not a very pleasant idea, but if things came to those extremes, little was there to be considered.

Once the short man arrived home, he immediately started preparing the dinner, saving for himself something to eat for lunch and tea time. While some courses were being cooked and did not require Bilbo’s full attention, the man went upstairs and started tidying up every bedroom and preparing them for being inhabited, which meant finding some linens for each type of bed and ensuring every wardrobe was empty and prepared to be used. The bourgeois then moved all his belongings to his original room, suppressing some deep sighs whenever he entered the bedroom and reminiscence of the life prior to the Great War invaded his mind.

By the time he had everything prepared, it was already getting dark, the sun already hiding in the horizon’s line, and the meat and dessert pies were still in the process of being finished. Being idle while he waited for the last dishes to be baked, Bilbo’s nervousness arose again. He hadn’t realized that while everything material was prepared to host Gandalf’s men, Bilbo wasn’t close to any state of mind that could be described as _morally prepared_. What was going to be expected from him? Should he have been informed of any particularities of Jewish culture before accepting to guard them? Was he supposed to transform into their religion for the group to accept his presence? He hoped that at the very least he wasn’t expected to be able to hold any kind of weapon or to engage in any kind of violent act in order to defend them. His father’s transformation after war was not something he regarded with interest or curiosity. It was more of a traumatic memory if he had to describe it in any way.

His nervousness itched him all over, and the urge to get his shoes off was almost impossible to ignore, but the man had preferred to tend to Bag Hill in the end rather than to be found walking around barefoot. The garden was a place that usually allowed Bilbo to think with a clearer mind while taking care of its different plants, even though it brought back memories of better times and sometimes saddened the bourgeois.

Yet today he observed the flower’s corner and couldn’t get the idea that something was missing out of him. Never had he considered changing what Belladonna had arranged prior to her death, mainly because the man didn’t think of Bag Hill as his property but as a gift that he had to look after for his parents, who no longer could tend to it. Thus, even the mere thought of changing whatever aspect of the garden brought only uneasiness to Bilbo. But not today. Today he felt like something familiar was missing, that suddenly there was a lack of some specific flower, a colorful and pretty one to top it all. The bourgeois could feel its contour forming in his mind, and yet the name evaded him. It may have been because of the slight distress that he felt because of his egoistic wish, but he soon was able to remember the flower he felt was lacking in the pretty Beutelsend’s garden.

“Camellias, yes. Lovely camellias.”

His inner ramblings were shortly interrupted afterwards by a loud and strong knocking on the door. When he snapped his sight up, the bourgeois could notice then that night had already settled around without him even noticing, which meant that whoever was knocking at the door could only be the group he was awaiting. Only then he remembered that he had left the pies unattended, and rushed as fast as he could (not without cleaning his shoes before reentering the cottage) to the kitchen, fortunately being able to save the dishes with only minor damage to both of them. The knocking on the door was repeated, a bit louder this time to prove that the men waiting behind it were growing impatient, and Bilbo rushed nervously to place the meat pie at the center of the big dining room’s table, surrounded by the rest of the side dishes and the first course that was placed right next to the pie. Because of his insecurity and restlessness, the man had cooked too much for five men. However hungry they might be, Bilbo was sure there was enough to please more than a dozen of starved men, and maybe even some would still be left over for the case that Gandalf came along. While the short man checked the rest of the side dishes and the second tureen with the soup that were placed on another table (because there was literally no space at all left on the main table), a third knock was struck against the front door, this one sounding quite annoyed already. Bilbo felt the urge to call out a “Coming!”, but immediately changed his mind and kept quiet. Receiving Jewish folk to hide them in his house was supposed to be done with caution and discretion, and shouting so that his voice was heard across the whole first floor and through Beutelsend’s entrance had none of that.

Reaching the door, the bourgeois stopped briefly to collect his wits and bring up some good apology for taking so long in answering the door and leaving the men waiting outside, but when Bilbo finally opened the door, no words came out of his mouth.

He really had never seen someone of their kin, so there was little he could expect when meeting them at last. However he had not imagined that they would appear so tall or as menacing as the big one of the two men standing in front of him looked. Sure thing the bourgeois was not precisely tall regardless of whatever standards, but he was sure that he had not seen someone as tall as the younger of the two men he was receiving that night, not even Fuhrmann, who was probably some centimeters shorter. The other man standing next to the big one appeared quite older, his white long beard and wrinkles showing him as an elder, though he carried himself with an elegant posture and enough energy in his sight that it was difficult to give him any specific age. And he still was a bit taller than Bilbo. Both of them were dressed heavily for the summer weather of August, with dark-colored pants and long raincoats, and it all gave them a very stocky appearance. To which extent that width was the outline of their real body, Bilbo could only guess.

“Balin Ritter.” The older man broke the silence that had settled between the three of them with a gentle and respectful smile, and looked towards the other man, as expecting him to continue with the presentations. The taller man proceeded only after exhaling a very annoyed sigh.

“Ritter, Dwalin.” _So, brothers?_ The younger man answered courtly, earning a glare from his older brother who seemed to be waiting for the other one to add something else to his brief speech, but after a few seconds of silence the shorter man sighed in the same fashion as Dwalin and finished the presentation.

“At your service.” The white bearded man bowed slightly, though the one with the chestnut one didn’t even flinch. Only then did Bilbo remember that he was part of the brief conversation, and that the salutation was aimed at him.

“Oh, eh-,” the eloquence that had involuntarily escaped his mouth made the bourgeois mince slightly, “Bilbo Baggins, at yours.” He gave back the salutation with a deeper bow, trying to show his respect to both of them before politely asking them to enter. None of them got their boots off, and the fair-haired man could only hope theirs weren’t as dirty as Fuhrmann’s had been earlier in the day.

“Please, do come in. Dinner has been already prepared, so if you follow me I can show you the way to the dining room.” Bilbo said with a bit of a stutter because of his nervousness and led the pair to where the meal was awaiting them. “I must confess, I was under the impression that you were traveling in a bigger group; that is why I have prepared such a big meal.”

“The rest is on their way.” The youngest of the Ritter brothers answered without looking to their host, but instead looking around with some curiosity in his eyes and plenty of disgust in his facial expression. Not willing to start badly with the group, Bilbo refused to take it as an offence and blamed it on the weariness the tall man (Dwalin, if he remembered correctly) was surely suffering from.

“Oh, right. And would Gandalf be joining us this night?” He needed him there as support, at least for the first days if anything. Bilbo could not imagine how he would deal with this people without the older man’s help, especially if it seemed that some will be inclined to regard him with something akin to disdain. His question was, however, met with a confused expression in Balin’s face, which in turn fueled the bourgeois doubts and nervousness.

“I’m guessing you are referring to the Russian gentleman.” Balin answered politely when he noticed the uneasiness in Bilbo. “He is accompanying the leader of our company, and they would probably be the last to arrive.”

_Why do they not know of Gandalf’s name? Did he not tell them, or... has he approached us Baggins with a false identity?_

Forgetting about his worries for the moment, Bilbo put on his best host façade and suggested both brothers sitting around the table and start their dinner or taking a comfortable place in the sitting room, which was across the entrance to their actual room, and wait for the rest to come and start the meal. As both had agreed in waiting, the bourgeois had politely showed them the room and lit the fire in the chimney to make the place look a bit more cozy and comfortable. It was something he did more for himself than for his guests, as the warmth coming from the fire calmed him down and made it easier for him to be socially approachable.

In the end, it did seem that Gandalf would be bringing four or five people. ‘The rest is on their way’ could not be referred to only one more man, and if the leader of their party would be arriving later with Gandalf, it was most probable that someone else would arrive before them. However, a slight fear started pooling in Bilbo’s guts when the thought of there being more than five people expecting his protection crossed his mind. _I do not even have enough rooms for everyone if they decide not to share them_. Six people he still could accommodate, though he’d have to use the big study in the first floor as his own room for the time the company would be staying in Beutelsend, which didn’t seem a very comfortable way of spending one’s night. But should there be more of them, and it was an idea that threatened to be real with every passing second, Bilbo couldn’t imagine what would be of his poor heart.

Once he finished with the chimney, the bourgeois turned his attention back to his protectees and started to think what to say to lighten the awkward mood that had settled between them. After all, they were complete strangers that he was taking under his wing for no apparent reason, or not one they could understand, so it was only normal for them to doubt Bilbo’s intentions and approach. A part of him wished he could ask some more about them so as to come to know the Ritter brothers better and try to form some kind of bonds. It resembled the way his father had tough him how to maintain the farms in good conditions; a working relationship is always best kept with a good mood and a friendly demeanor, and what was their true relationship if not a working one?

Yet he felt that prying in their personal lives would not be a wise decision, especially if big Dwalin kept on a look of menacing disgust in his face. This only left Bilbo with a host’s polite approach. “If I can do anything else to accommodate you in any way, please, make me know, I will try to do as much as I am able to.”

“Thank you, Mister Baggins, it is very kind form your part.” Balin answered with his kind smile. To the bourgeois surprise, it was then that Dwalin had turned his attention towards Bilbo with a suspicious glare.

“Were you the one who cooked the food?” the younger one said with a not quite neutral tone, as per usual.

“Well, yes, I did.” The young Baggins tried to answer with as much politeness as the taller man left possible in him and some confusion in his voice, not quite understanding what the question was aimed at. “Is there any problem with it?”

“Meals cooked by _goy_ are–”

“Ach,” Balin interrupted his younger brother, not letting him finish his complaints, “hitna’heg.” Although the bourgeois was unable to understand a word of what seemed to be Hebrew, he supposed that the eldest of the Ritter brothers had made it clear that there was no need in continuing whatever Dwalin was about to say. “There is nothing you should worry about, Mister Baggins, we are grateful for the aid you are giving us, even though there is no way for us to pay you.”

And that was when the little smile on Bilbo’s face fell. The bourgeois’ hope for a good start among these people had relied on the fact that at least some like Balin would not reject him directly for not being part of their kin, and would at least try a polite approach for something that could be companionship. Yet these hopes were shattered the instant that the older man had showed that his friendliness was nothing but a façade carefully placed together. It was actually tricky and difficult to notice, but the slight hint of suspicion in the man’s voice and the hidden question that was asked in his words made it clear enough for Bilbo to understand that he was not trusted, regardless of the help he was offering. The bourgeois had the intention of continuing the conversation and try to assure both men that he had only good intentions towards them and their group, even if his reason for acting kindly were a bit odd, but he was interrupted by two simultaneous knocks on the front door.

“I-, I will be answering the door.” And any other attempt at a polite way of excusing himself evaded him.

Reaching the hall at a fast pace, Bilbo opened the entrance door to find there standing two young men looking in their early twenties. As Dwalin and Balin, they too were clothed heavily for the late summer night, though their boots looked quite dirtier and that worried the young Baggins.

“Fili Gottleib.” The blond boy answered with a charming smile on his face, decorated by his carefully braided blond beard before the other one continued the salutation.

“And Kili Gottleib.” This one had the shortest beard of all the men he had seen that night, and Bilbo supposed by the combination of that aspect with his cheeky grin that the boy was probably the youngest of the company, even though he was slightly higher than the one named Fili. Still both were quite higher than him. “At your service.” The two brothers finished their presentation with an overly deep bow full of mockery and grinned back again at Bilbo, seemingly awaiting his annoyance. Unfortunately for them a Baggins never lost his composure because of his guests, even less if it was to children’s games, to which he was quite used by attending at Auenland’s festivities, so he answered gracefully to their attitude.

“Bilbo Baggins,” the bourgeois answered with a small smile on his face and a bow deeper than the shy one he gave Balin and Dwalin, though not as exaggerated as the one the young brothers had granted him, “at yours and your family’s. Mister Balin and Mister Dwalin were waiting for your arrival in the sitting room. Please follow me and I’ll show you the way.”

While he walked the two boys towards where the rest of the group was sitting, Bilbo’s mind raced through his worries. An addition of two more men meant that it was highly probable that there were to be more than five people in the end, and even though the bourgeois sensible side was telling him to be worried about the perils that such a predicament meant for the future, his Baggins properness when performing as a host only worried about accommodation logistics and that dinner might end up not being enough for everyone. A side from that, a part of him had been left slightly offended by the straightforward rejection by the youngsters of the group. He was aware that older people, in which group he could count himself and the two first arrivals, were usually not keen on overlooking traditions and stereotypes and thus ended up judging crudely people that were strangers to their circles, but young people were usually more accepting of outsiders, or that was what he came to observe in the youth of Auenland, prior to the Great War at least. In regards to his understanding, that both Gottleib brothers had been so direct on his rejection so as to mock him on their first meeting only meant that theirs had been a pretty bad first impression, and that saddened him. Young Baggins had always had a knack for kids, a habit probably instilled by both his parents.

“Balin and Dwalin. It’s good to see that none of you have fallen prey of those German _khnyok_.” The blond boy, Fili, said with a smile that could only be granted to those considered family, and then suddenly turned to look at Bilbo with a bit of an apologetic look in his face, not quite sincere. “No offence intended, Mister Baggins.”

Not understanding exactly why the blond was apologizing, Bilbo stood silent for a few seconds, lacking any kind of response, before realizing that the strange word that the young man had just used was probably an insult towards all the anti-Semitic Germans and only then did he allow himself to feel offended. After all, grouping Bilbo with the rest of the German xenophobes was nothing short of an insult, considering that both his parents had been born in England (even though few knew of this fact) and that he had loved them dearly. Besides, the bourgeois was risking all of his belongings, his Baggins respectability and probably his own _life_ for hiding and protecting them from the Fuhrer’s army and followers, wasn’t that enough to prove that he was not like the majority of his fellow countrymen?

“If you would excuse me, Mister Gottleib, I would like to clarify the fact that both my parents were–”

“Whoa! Dwalin and Balin first to arrive? Can’t believe my own eyes!” Bilbo was interrupted for the umpteenth time that day, this time by Kili’s booming voice when the boy had finally entered the sitting room. The bourgeois’ slight restlessness was slowly turning into frustration and uncomfortable uneasiness around the group of Jewish folk. The little attention that was paid to the man wasn’t all that different from plain isolation, and this turn of events was nothing Bilbo could have predicted when accepting to take under his wing some protectees.

To his surprise, Balin was looking in his direction with a slight remorseful sight, as if he was about to ask the younger man to continue with what he wanted to say and apologize in the name of the younger man for the interruption. However, this ray of hope was briefly cut when young Kili crossed the room towards where the Ritter brothers were standing and caught both of his attention with the most peculiar greeting Bilbo had ever seen. The bourgeois thought he could have heard a cracking sound when the two men bumped harshly their heads together, as if it was nothing else but their good evenings. The strange ritual was repeated amongst the whole group, leaving Bilbo wide-eyed and perplexed, only turning away his sight when he noticed that he had been starring impolitely for far too long.

“Well, aren’t you lads one to speak.” Dwalin answered just before bumping his forehead with Fili’s. “It’s only a miracle that you haven’t gotten here the last ones.”

“And in one piece.” Balin added while patting lightly Kili’s shoulder and smiling fondly towards the blond boy.

“Yes, your uncle would have had our heads if anything bad had happened to you two.” The tall man continued his complains with mockery in his voice and half a smile that Bilbo was sure he wouldn’t be using if he actually remembered that the German bourgeois was witnessing their reencounter. “Bless the heavens for having you both safe and sound at least this time.”

“What are you implying?” The two young brothers answered in unison, the brunette with some real annoyance in his face while the shorter one was simply ginning teasingly and pretending to be offended. It was then that the third knock of the night on Beutelsend’s door was heard.

“I’ll answer that. Please, get comfortable; my home is your home.” The short man said a bit too quickly and hurried to get to the door, though not fast enough to miss Dwalin’s gruff voice saying something in Hebrew that was with no doubt some pejorative adjective directed towards Bilbo, judging by the boisterous laughter from the two boys that the remark had provoked.

Trying not to pay attention to it, the man walked with confidence towards the entrance knowing well who was behind the green door. _Gandalf would know what to do_. With some relief building up inside him, the bourgeois opened the door. His polite smile fell instantly.

_Two more!_

There, in front of Beutelsend’s door were standing two men, dressed in the same heavy and stocky style that the rest of the company had. Their beards were nothing short of exuberant and had little to envy from the ones that the rest of the men lounging in Bilbo’s sitting room had, specially the red-haired one. Bilbo could only wander how the man had been able to evade being caught by the military with such vivid hair color, though the mere fact that their group was already this big was enough of a hardship when trying to hide from their persecutors.

“Oin and Gloin Kauffmann,” the red-haired man said while pointing with his extended hand first towards the man who was most certainly his brother and then to himself, while bowing with neutral politeness, “Both of us, at your service.”

It seemed a bit weird that the grey-haired man had, unlike the rest, not spoken a word during the presentation, and the bourgeois wondered if the man was mute or deaf. Not willing to pry on personal matters, the man decided to extend the courtesy of privacy and politeness.

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours and your family’s.” The man said gesticulating as clearly as he could for the old man’s sake, in case he really was deaf.

“Boggins? That’s quite an unusual name for German folk.”

The bourgeois, slightly startled both at the mispronunciation of his surname and the fact that the old man was capable of speaking clearly, attempted to correct the gray-haired by making the “a” in his name clearer, but as per usual, poor Bilbo was once again interrupted by a very loud laughter. Turning around he was able to see that the noisy one was Kili who had most probably followed him to the hall to meet the new arrivals – _a most unwise decision_ – and was now bending over with laughter, wrapping his arms around his middle in an attempt at stopping the uncontrollable shakes of his body, failing miserably.

“Boooooogins.” Kili continued laughing while his brother came behind him with a grin on his face but holding himself composed, either because he didn’t find the event all that funny, or because he considered it would be ungraceful to react so openly with an outsider in front of them. Which of those two options was more disappointing, the young Baggins couldn’t know. “Oh, dear Adonai–”

“Kili.” The blond boy interrupted the brunette while his little smile flattered for unknown reasons to Bilbo, and then turned his sight back to where the bourgeois and the last two members of the company to arrive were, smiling again faintly towards the young Baggins in a seemingly polite way, and then turned his attention back to Oin and Gloin. “Balin and Dwalin have already arrived. They are both waiting inside.”

“Those are good news to hear.” The older man, Oin, said while entering Beutelsend, carrying now a small sized trumpet-like object on one of his ears. The rest followed inside swiftly without Bilbo having to say anything, and the youngest brothers leaded the way.

“Don’t pay him much mind, lad.” The red-haired man said while passing by the bourgeois’ side. “My brother is just a bit hard of hearing. No offence intended.”

No matter how much his respectable Baggins side wanted him to answer with some polite reassurances, Bilbo couldn’t find any more words to make audible. Everything was starting to weigh him down. Too many people, too many responsibilities and too many worries were piling up. And, for the first time in his entire life, he felt isolated in his very own house. In _Beutelsend_. Unthinkable. Yet he didn’t voice any of his complains, regardless of how much he wanted to. The bourgeois might not be feeling up to maintain polite conversational exchanges, but that did not mean that Bilbo Baggins would lose his family _heirloom_ against some outsiders. His respectability was way above that, so he followed silently towards where the rest of the company was and tried to act as much a host as he was supposed to be, holding up all his uneasiness inside.

The six men invading his sitting room already looked far too much to worry about, and a seventh was still to arrive with Gandalf; how was he supposed to take care of this big mess? On top of everything else, the group seemed to act as if their host wasn’t there at all. It was not as if they were acting like Bilbo didn’t exist, they simply didn’t seem to want to acknowledge his relevance in their conversations or their lives. Sighing deeply to calm himself, the bourgeois coughed lightly to bring the attention of the company to him.

“I am very sorry to interrupt you, but I would like to remind the fact that dinner is already served in the dining room,” Bilbo said with a polite voice but restrained slightly by a slowly imposing shyness on him, “and seeing as it has been served for quite a while now, it might be getting cold by now. So if you would like I could lead you to the room.”

“Food!” to Bilbo’s surprise, Kili was the first one to react to his words, and the only one he had noticed that had no problems with acting naturally in front of an _outsider_ like Bilbo. But the boy had to open his mouth again, and shatter the bourgeois’ expectations. “Why hadn’t you warned us earlier, Master Boggins? I’m so hungry I would eat whatever you’d give us.”

“Even goy’s food?” Dwalin had asked the boy with a very displeased face that was answered by a glare from his brother. Whatever _goy_ meant, Bilbo was guessing it was not going to be a compliment. _Well, he will have to take back those words when he tries the home-made pies and scones I have still saved for elevensies_.

“Even that. I’d actually say we hurry up before Bombur comes or there won’t be anything left for us, c’mon Fili.”

“Right behind you, brother dear.” The blond boy answered to his brother’s call with a pleased grin on his face while he tailed right behind him towards the main corridor, probably as happy as the brunette for having something to fill his empty stomach. The rest of the company followed the youngsters swiftly, and it took a few seconds for Bilbo to regain his composure and lead the group to where the meal was waiting for them.

“Sweet temptation,” Fili said with some awe in his voice when he entered the room and saw the incredible amount of food that was prepared to receive them. “This is actually quite an impressive reception, Mister Baggins.”

“Well,” Bilbo started, a bit perplexed by the compliments, “It is the least I could do for you after such long and perilous voyage that has undoubtedly been yours.”

“Your actions are kind.” Balin answered before someone could mention anything else Hebrew-related which the host would not understand, making it clear that he did not approve of any more blatant rudeness in the house of the man that had accepted sheltering them. “We are most grateful for it, and there is no reason for denying either.”

“Oh, that’s-, that’s good.” The bourgeois answered, a bit startled for the double intention that the old man’s words carried and was left at a lack of words once again. “Good.”

“Yes, yes, we’re all very nice folk,” Kili said with a bit of impatience in his voice, while his eyes deceived his hunger and his hands, tugging at his brother’s sleeves to make him tag along towards the table, showed that his attention was completely centered on the food catered around the room, “but I think we can discuss this while we eat, don’t you think so, brother?”

“I agree,” the blond followed the slightly taller boy to sit next to him around the table, close to where the meat pie and the dumplings were piled, with a slight grin on his face in apparent appreciation for the sight granted to him at the dinner table, “Let us enjoy at least this night of rest, seeing as it is freely given to us, our dear friends.”

Not much else was needed to be said after that and in no time at all the company that had gathered in Beutelsend was seating around the table, some still grumbling in Hebrew as they settled in their seat of choice, but their chatter developed fast from hushed brief conversations among pairs to a noisy group chat over German ale that Bilbo had brought while the company took their seats. To the bourgeois surprise, there was the feeling that it was actually the youngsters of the group that somehow held an air of leadership, and not the older ones as the young Baggins would have considered. Actually, had they not specified that their leader was still on his way to the cottage, he would have supposed that the two Gottleib brothers had the most respectable position among the group, whatever that might meant in their Jewish culture.

No sooner had Bilbo delivered the last jar of ale that the next knock on the door was heard. A light sight of relief escaped him and he excused himself briefly to go and attend the call at the entrance. His uneasiness at the situation that had settled in the dining room slowly dissipated with the thought of Gandalf finally arriving with the last man of the group. He was certain that the old man’s help would prove effective in order to settle some kind of agreement between the company and him, as for the moment he had only been looked down and seemingly criticized in a language he could not understand. Besides, three were the last seats left unused in the dining room, so they

A bit more hurriedly than he would like to admit, Bilbo reached for the knob of the entrance door and opened it with haste, only to be faced by an unexpected sight and a sickening feeling. It was with the sight of three men standing in front of his door, undoubtedly for the same business that the rest of the men eating Bilbo’s dinner, that the bourgeois started feeling a bit out of the picture, as if his life was being displayed in front of his eyes without him being a participant of it. Add some nausea and dizziness to the cocktail and the young Baggins’ state of mind would be well described.

“Dori,” the oldest-looking of the three Jewish men, with a fancy braided looking beard and hairstyle, started the presentations with a very polite tone and bow. Next to him stood two other men, and Bilbo could not decide which one of them looked more peculiar. If the white-haired man had a bit of an extravagant hair style and too much of a fancy beard, then the one to his left was blatantly calling for attention. Not only was his hair a light reddish color (not as vivid as Gloin’s maybe, but still quite eye-catching) but it was braided in a star-shaped form that was completed with his beard and the unbelievable participation of the hair of his eyebrows, which astonished the bourgeois to no end. The last one of them, the shortest and apparently the youngest too, did not have any great physical particularity, but his shyness was so bodily-visible it made him actually stand out.

“Nori,” The extravagant looking man continued on, not bowing at all and carrying a small grin, as if he knew something the rest did not. Such first impression will probably be the exact type of man that the anti-Semitic portion of German would take as the object of their hate, seeing as he looked suspicious even to Bilbo’s opinion.

Some fidgeting caught then the bourgeois’ attention, and his sight turned to the last one, a boy probably not far from Kili’s and Fili’s age, though he could not tell which one of them was the youngest. His attire, although quite similar to the rest of the company, looked slightly different, mainly because of his baggy and worn appearance. Only then did he notice that, in fact, all three of them were wearing clothes a tad less nice looking than the rest of the men that had come during the night, and it only spiked Bilbo’s curiosity even more, a very Took-ish reaction that surprised the proud-to-be-respectful Baggins. Besides, being curious about personal matters that did not concern him was downwards rude.

“And Ori,” the youngest of the three men said at last, smiling lightly and appearing quite unsure of what he was supposed to say or do, which relieved Bilbo slightly; at least now it was two of them feeling uncomfortable and unprepared for what was coming, though in the bourgeois’ case a growing dizziness and the feeling of an approaching faint should be added to the list.

“The Eberhardt family is at your service.” The older man, Dori, said in a polite voice to finish the salutation, and the three men stood tall when their family name was spoken aloud. Had he been in his senses, Bilbo would have made a mental remark at the pride their kin seemed to carry as if it was a bloodline trait all of them shared, but seeing as his stupor made nothing to help him be more responsive or to be sharper with his thoughts and considerations, the man could only watch himself be slowly drowned in the escalating mayhem that the almost innocent-looking task of protecting _some_ Jewish folk had become.

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours.” The bourgeois answered with an almost mechanic tone, not being all that conscious about what he was doing or saying, he bowed lightly and tried not to panic too visually. “If you would follow me, I cold lead you to the diner room where the rest of your companions are already having their meal.”

If any of these men had made any complaints about Bilbo’s food, it was a complete certainty that the bourgeois would have remained oblivious to it as his mind was racing through all the reason he should be panicking. Nine men already in his home, and at least one more still to arrive, were impossible to hide, whatever the Russian man would claim. To top it all, next week a group of soldiers would probably arrive to patrol Auenland and then it is when his life would turn from being a nightmare to Hell itself. What were the probabilities of him coming out clean if he was caught hiding their folk from the authority? Not even if he claimed he knew nothing of their real identity or that they were hiding in his cottage (something the young Baggins would never even consider for it would be beyond dishonorable) would he find forgiveness or any ways of redemption. He would be named a “national traitor”, and would suffer the same punishment that his protegees would were they to be caught, if not worse.

“This flowers are lovely, Mister Baggins.”

Bilbo couldn’t identify the voice immediately, even though it was supposed to be quite easy, so he turned to face the men that were following him. To his surprise, and oh, how much did Bilbo want to add the dreadful adjective to that surprise, he found himself watching the youngest of the three, Ori, standing right in front of the lilies in the hall and making his move to caress the flowers.

“I wouldn't touch those, young man.” The bourgeois snapped with a bit of worry in his voice before he could actually stop himself and mentally rephrase what he really meant to say. Such was the drain in his spirit that his carefully closeted Took side was surfacing too often for his own liking and silly, but awfully impolite, actions like not thinking before voicing his concerns started happening. The perplexed faces of the men standing in the hall were a clear proof of that. “Please.” Was his first attempt at mending the situation, but it sounded sappy and altogether very apologetic, even more than what he meant to. “Sorry. I-, I really did not mean to be so impolite or-, or to be so rough. Please, excuse me for that.” The bourgeois continued on with his short rambling in a hushed tone and looking quite uneasy, while Dori looked at him with some quite expressive disgust, Nori stood there grining at him in a not very friendly way, and the fidgety Ori looked as if he was a little bunny caught by a wild and threatening-looking fox, and if the situation could get any worse, time would be the only needed factor. “I just-, I worried-, ah.” Bilbo sighted in a bit of exasperation for being unable to perform what he considered his only worth for nothing ability, which was his eloquent speech, and tried to regain his wits at least to be capable enough to worm himself out of such an embarrassing situation and spare the looks from the three men that he was supposed to protect, and thus being on speaking terms. “Look, I was just utterly worried about you, young Mister Eberhardt, because those flowers are quite on the poisonous side, and seeing as I am responsible for your fate during the following days, it would be utterly shameful and beyond irresponsible from my side if I had one of you fall ill so soon…”

The young Baggins voice had drifted slowly into a hushed tone during the last few words of his explanation, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved when a small smile appeared in the youngest face, even though the redhead started staring at him with another one of his grins, this time a bit unsettling while eying the flowers, and the older man still looking at him as if he had just stomped on his well-kept flower garden.

“Thank you, Mister Baggins, for your concern.” Ori said with a shy but sound voice, and his fidgeting seemed to ease a bit. “It is appreciated.”

“What would bring a honorable and decent man to keep poisonous flowers in his hall, open and reachable for visitors?” The white-haired man asked with a tad suspicious look in his eyes, and it might have been just a false impression, but Bilbo thought he saw how the older man eyed the redhead with a bit of harshness in his expression, to which the younger man answered with a disinterested snicker, and continued observing the flowers in the vase.

“Opposite to what you may think of me, Mister Dori,” the bourgeois slowly started speaking once again in his diligent and eloquently polite voice, in the process of regaining his sense and ability to be coherent, “I do not receive frequent visits, and those who do visit Beutelsend, this cottage, are mostly farmers well versed in the knowledge of what plants should never be eaten, or touched. Though I must admit, it has been long since the last time flowers were put in that vase, be it poisonous or not.”

“And to what occasion were they placed this time?” Nori said with a curious glint in his eyes and a bit of an accusatory sight to his expression. “Would we be the reason for such an honor?”

Had he been fully in his senses, Bilbo would have felt utterly insulted for such an accusation and would have reacted accordingly, but the combination of being still half in stupor for not being prepared to brace the reality of his task and the fact that he had just came from an uncomfortable situation in which he had shamed himself, the bourgeois preferred not to act on his impetuous Took instincts. And if there was any possible way of bringing these men to be on a friendly treatment with him, or at least on a polite one, there would be no better way than to confide part of him. Or at least that was his very Baggins-like conviction; in order to create a personal link, nothing is better than to share something personal.

“They are simply in memory of my late mother. She used to love flower meanings, and the lilies were her favorite while my father went to the Great War.”

Silence was the result obtained, and even though it was a bit of an uncomfortable outcome, it was a better result than the glaring he had been receiving from the Eberhardt family since the beginning. Exchanging only a few more words, mostly Dori apologizing on behalf of his brothers and himself, Bilbo lead the three men to the dining room where they were received with the same heated greetings than the rest had during the previous hours of the night.

“I was starting to worry that it was Bombur coming to eat all up before we had the opportunity to try everything out.” Kili said while backslapping young Ori with enough force to startle him lightly.

“I am starting to worry that the glutton we should fear is not our Bombur, but you, brother.” Fili answered with his voice full of mockery, starting a round of very loud laughing in the room that lead into more loud chattering, leaving Bilbo to notice that all seats were already being used and that he was going to need to bring more, probably from the study. He did not even want to venture on the future planning for their bedroom accommodation, and allowed himself to drift in the land of the present moment, worrying himself with the seats and the need to prepare more desserts, and probably some more second courses.

Making sure he was not noticed by the company, and thus not interrupting them as they lead their chatter, Bilbo slipped into the study that was close to the entry hall and brought three more seats, one at a time, before returning to the kitchen and started working on some more second courses and the planning for a few more desserts with what little was available for that purpose in his kitchen.

Not long into his cooking frenzy, the knocking on the door was heard once again and the bourgeois couldn’t for the love of him trust any longer for the person waiting at the entrance to be Gandalf. And just as he had supposed, it wasn’t Gandalf who he saw when he had finally opened the door for the fifth time that night. Not that it saved him from feeling utterly done for the night, again.

Three were again the number of arrivals, and Bilbo could not imagine how such an incredibly big group had travelled through Germany and had remained unnoticed even to the gossips. Or maybe the soldier’s arrival to Auenland next week was because of them, because they were being followed? Because if someone was to speak up with blatant truth here, none of the proteges that he was supposed to hide looked particularly interested in being discreet. And if the previous arriving men looked peculiar for whatever reason they had, the three men now standing in front of Beutelsend’s door were beyond that. Just as it had happened with the Eberhardt brothers, their clothes looked a bit more worn out, with greyer and dustier colors and with little torn bits in some places, but those aspects were not the most relevant in their appearance. What stood out and made Bilbo wonder, once again, how they got unnoticed by the authorities were the little details that each one of them carried to define their personality, as if being unnoticeable was not their real purpose when hiding away from their death sentence.

One of them was distinctively noticeable due to his pronounced waist size and it took little effort for Bilbo to guess that this man was probably the one referred as Bombur. Not only was his body type a distinctive one, but his beard was long enough to go all around his neck and even though his hair color was light, it still carried a copper tone to it that made it eye-catching.

The man to the left of Bombur did not have hairy particularities, his hair was actually of a dark color and his beard wasn’t that out of the ordinary, but he carried a rather stern look in his face that was exponentially worsened by the pointy metal-looking object that came out from the left side of his forehead. Menacing did not bring enough force to describe his looks. At Bombur’s right side stood a middle aged man who seemed, from the young Baggins’ point of view, to be the most careless man out of the whole group. If the rest of the company could not evade their physical particularities because they were there by nature and in some cases difficult to hide, the last man of the group of three that was standing by the front door was a complete exception. Not only did he not care to hide his most pronounced Jewish appearance but he even wore an awfully eye-catching appearance by itself. His long hair, braided in two piggy tails, was combined with a big, baggy and old looking hat that, although giving him a more sheepish appearance, made him look stranger, and thus quite noticeable among crowds.

“The brothers Bifur, Bombur and Bofur Kuhn, at your service.” The hated man said pointing with his open hand towards each one of them when pronouncing their names, while the three of them bowed politely. Regardless of their really extravagant appearance, they seemed to be the group that had accepted his presence with more grace than the rest had, and hadn’t showed any direct disgust so far, so even if their carefreeness worried the bourgeois, they actually appeased slightly his mind. Not enough to cast away the dizziness or the desperation flooding his insides, though.

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours.” The bourgeois answered in a standardly polite voice, trying to recount how many men was he actually hoisting in Beutelsend.

“Did the rest arrive already?” Bofur asked with his never-fading charming smile while he tried to look past Bilbo to see if there was anyone in particular he could recognize behind the host’s back. _Polite and charming, none the least uninterested in coming to know the host, are we?_

“Nine are already dining, Mister Kuhn.”

“Oh, so we are the last to arrive. As predicted.” The piggy-tailed man continued on with his charismatic smile spread out, and if the group noticed the relieved sigh that escaped Bilbo, he was sure no one could really blame him.

“Hurry up then, I bet they are trying to eat everything up before we arrive.” Bombur, as would have been expected from the description Bilbo had heard of the man, ushered his two brothers inside the cottage, bumping slightly with the bourgeois as they strode past him and entered the hall.

“There is no real need to worry,” Bilbo tried to reassure the group, trilling behind and trying to keep up their pace while guiding them towards the right room at the same time, “I am already preparing the second round of the main courses, and the first one has been cocked in plenty for everyone to eat,” thought an _‘I hope so’_ was whispered silently and a bit breathlessly by the bourgeois before he lead them inside the dining room. There they were warmly welcomed by the rest of the company, which had already started their way into the second course, both the pie and the rest of the side dishes being eaten equally fast.

This time, Bilbo didn’t even notice how fast he had been left out. One second it was warm greetings in German, the following everyone was fast to switch into Hebrew. The young Baggins didn’t even bother wondering why the threatening looking man, Bifur, only showed his speaking ability when talking in his mother tongue. After all, the bourgeois was already done with the rudeness the group had showed him in just a few hours, so he decided to simply cope with it and make use of his slight anger in order to not subside into fainting. He used to be told by Belladonna that his fragile constitution and excitability was a very common trait from the Baggins side, and seeing as his father was the one to overreact and fret when guests became rude due to the alcohol inhibition, young Bilbo never doubted her mother words, especially when the lady was the one to maintain the appropriately necessary venom in his speech when casting away the problematic ones. It was not like his father was not brave enough to face drunken men; he went as a volunteer to the Great War after all. However, his character was very much a Baggins; gentle, polite and respectable, regardless of his strict attitude towards his only son’s education.

Seeing as he had become invisible to the group once again, Bilbo went back to the kitchen, trying not to pay too much attention to the feeling of being left out, as per usual. However, just with the first glimpse of the main corridor, the bourgeois knew that feeling isolated was going to be the least of his concerns during the stay of his _protégées_. The freshly clean carpets that had been laid down during the morning after being taken care of were now once again dirtied with mood and what not, and their appearance seemed even worse than when they were trod by Fuhrmann earlier that day. To add on to Bilbo’s desperation, the dirt, no doubt coming from the boots of the men dining in his house, had ended up decorating not only the carpets but Beutelsend’s polished wooden floor too, trailing off, in a constant line, towards the different rooms of the first floor, and the realization of how much was to be cleaned filled the young Baggins with dread and a slight cold sweat, that did nothing to ease his now constant dizziness.

Not wishing to face the house problems that were slowly pilling on him, the bourgeois went on his way to refill the second courses. If cooking eased his mind and allowed him to disconnect form his busy and currently dreaded real life, no one could really blame him. As dear Belladonna used to say, _We’ve got to make the best out of our little, favorite oddities_ , and the young Baggins was certainly not one to disobey his mother’s advice.

However, the smell coming from his oven only worsened his currently fragile stability and the accurate procedure the man used to follow for the preparation of the minor side dishes, which usually allowed him to concentrate on lesser matters and forget about his worries, only made him more anxious whenever doubt raised or the feeling that he had made a mistake in the proportions for the dishes clouded his fuzzy, worrying mind. This odd disposition to one of his main hobbies arose a strange feeling of insecurity in Bilbo, and he could not, for the love of all that was proper, find the peace in his mind to get back in concentrating on the cooking, and if a Baggins, _and a Took_ , could not focus on how to properly treat food and excel adequately on its preparation, something terribly wrong was going on.

Just as if in cue to his exponentially growing anxiousness, Bombur and Bofur entered the room in their merry stride, looking as if they were searching for something in particular. Being the polite host as he was taught to be, the young Baggins turned his attention to the pair instead of trying to get his family food-related skills back to work.

“Can I help you with anything, Misters Kuhn?” came out the very Baggins-like voice that Bilbo usually used when his nerves got the better of him and a mask was needed to cover any “improperness” of his character.

“Well, Master Baggins,” the cheerful man, Bofur, said with his charming smile fully spread in his middle-aged face while rubbing the back of his head, “we were wondering if you could lend us some more seats for the dining room.”

“Oh, dear.” Bilbo answered with a bit of preoccupation in his voice, worrying he had left someone without a seat while fussing over his own issues and immediately went to attend the two men standing just at the other side of the main kitchen table, leaving the food unattended for the moment, “Yes, yes, of course. Please, forgive me for my lack of attention, I was not aware that someone was left without a place to seat for their meal.”

“Not a problem, Master Baggins.” The hatted man answered with mirth in his voice combined with a loud and melodic laugh. “Besides, no one is not-seated yet, but the leader of our group is about to come, and I’m sure the Russian gentleman and yourself would be needing a seat then.” And suddenly, as if the man had reconsidered something the moment he ended his sentence, his face changed from his usually smiley face to an undefined look of worry, as if he had just realized he had been treading over a particularly hazardous looking minefield, carefreeness as his sole company. “Well, if you don’t have any problems with that of course.”

Not grasping what the doubt and strange atmosphere shift was about, Bilbo blinked a few times while looking bemused, as if waiting for the other man to finish his question. However, the only thing that filled the kitchen’s ambient during the following seconds was mere silence, and thus the bourgeois found himself forced to come back to his senses and end as swiftly as possible with the uncomfortable situation that had taken over the conversation.

“I am sincerely sorry, but I must admit I am not able to follow what you are trying to ask me.”

“He is just worried you’ll think it’s inappropriate to sit beside our folk.” The bigger man, Bombur, answered with a neutral tone but looking slightly uncomfortable himself.

“Wha-,” being sorely affected by stress and worn out by the effects of his worries, the wit and graceful politeness that were his family’s trademark dissolved into nothingness and Bilbo’s immediate reactions to unexpected events, just like these type of questions that the short man would have never been prepared for, were turning to be the straightforward representation of his current emotional state, which was far from the respectable type of dialogue he would commonly use. Mentally slapping himself back into reality, the bourgeois tried to answer by rephrasing what he really meant to ask. “I mean-, why would that feel inappropriate or worry me, Misters?”

“We tend to be careful in regards to no-Jewish folk and their relationship with us.” Bofur answered with a half restrained smile, as if trying to explain something that was difficult for him to articulate and transform into concepts the Bilbo could understand. “Historically, it has not been a good move for our kin to take for granted the acceptance of other folk. I hope, Master Baggins, you can understand our refrains when it comes to-, say, interact with you.”

“I cannot say I don’t understand,” the bourgeois started to answer, slightly offended to be told straightforwardly that he was an _outsider_ , even though he had already noticed it by himself, “but I thought that the fact that I have volunteered to hide and protect you during your stay in my home would be enough reason to-, say, be considered acceptable.”

“We don’t make assumptions, Master Baggins.” Bombur followed swiftly with the answer before his brother could make his own attempt, carrying a sorrowful expression in his face that Bilbo could not exactly interpret. “Assumptions have lead us where we are right now.”

“My, hasn’t this conversation turned quite grim?” The hatted man interrupted with his smile back in his face, though it looked a bit forced this time. “We were all cheer and joy just a few seconds ago, let us all forget about our worries at least for this night, shall we?” the man continued while posing with his arms in a jar-like position, trying to transmit his positive and carefree demeanor to the other two men in the room.

The trick did not quite work on the young Baggins, and although a bit disappointed and confused with what he had come to know about his protégées, Bilbo knew not to press on personal matters when a boundary was clearly being placed and asked not to be overstepped in a very straightforward way, so the fair-haired man opted not to continue with the issue, no matter how much his Tookish curiosity asked him to go and learn more about the oddities of _that unknown folk_ while his Baggins sense wished to find a way of being on a respectful regard for the company too.

“Certainly. If you need any more seats, the study next to the entrance hall, on the left side of the main corridor, has some more you could use. I can bring them myself in a few minutes, if that is alright with you.”

“Don’t worry, Master Baggins, we can take care of that much by ourselves.” Bofur continued with a smiling face and a few light backslaps on the bourgeois while walking towards the corridor, but stopped right in front of the door that lead into the pantry, looking curiously towards it while exchanging a few words in Hebrew with Bombur. “Is this by any means where you store your food, Master Baggins?”

Looking a bit surprised by the question and taken aback by the sudden inquisitive, Bilbo did not consider the consequences of his sincerity when it came to food and the particular interest the company had for it, and answered straight away without much thinking; “Yes, it is the room designed to be the pantry. Why do you ask?”

“Were just looking for it too. Do you mind if we take a few things from it?” The cheerful man added while his brother was already opening the door and entering into Beutelsend’s pantry without much ado. “The group’s been quite hungry the last few days and all of us have big stomachs, probably just like my brother here.”

The rudeness of the situation struck Bilbo so strong that he was rendered immediately speechless and unable to react on time to the stimuli that the world was sending him in a cascade. There were so many considerations rushing through his mind that the bourgeois didn’t even know how to react anymore. On one side, he had to consider that now that he knew more about the reasons that drove the group to reject him he should know better on how to behave with them and take advantage of any possible situation that could improve the company’s opinion on him (like this one), but on the other side his respectable Baggins was screaming at the inappropriate and completely rude behavior that he was witnessing and found it impossible to simply stand there and accept such behavior. After all, the men were directly and plainly robbing from his pantry right in front of him, without much warning or petition to do so.

Yet his doubting did not have much time to be processed, as real life kept going and by the time that Bilbo had regained his wits, Bombur was already exiting the pantry carrying all the refill of cheese that he had bought that morning in the market and a few sausages to add to the pile. The bourgeois couldn’t even imagine how anyone was supposed to eat all that in one sitting having eaten already all the previous courses that the young Baggins had prepared previously, never mind there being quite a lot of men sharing the food.

“Ah-, are you sure that is necessary? I am really just about to finish some more second dishes to add to the table,” the fair haired man said with a bit of nervousness in his voice and incredibility in his face, “if you could tell the group to wait for a few more minutes-,”

“I don’t know about the rest of them,” Bombur said while slowly walking through the doorframe and into the corridor, “but I’m starving, and while I wait for the refill I’ll be probably done with this.”

“A big stomach he has, yes.” Bofur said between loud laughs, as if such a statement was enough to describe what the gluttony Bilbo had just witnessed really was. “The study was just at the left to the entrance hall, you said?”

“Yes, right there.” The young Baggins answered plainly, not knowing what to do with the company of men he was hosting any more.

The Baggins watched Bofur leave right behind his brother and turn left towards the study, and it took him a few more seconds, and the smell of the pie getting ready in the oven, before he could actually snap out of his stupor and concentrate on his task.

Strange people, the Jewish kin. Up until the day, Bilbo had lead a very Baggins lifestyle; few surprises or adventures, except those in which he indulged during his childhood, and when it came to social interaction, the outcomes were always very predictable thanks to the standards of politeness and respectability he had been taught throughout his whole life, and now, not even after one night of being in their company, the group he was hosting had achieved to surprise him in enough occasions to drive him into anxiousness. And not any kind of simple anxiousness, but a delicate _Baggins_ anxiousness, mind you.

He had been aware that there was probably going to be a cultural disparity between them, that acceptance would be difficult and that in order to coexist, everyone would have to put a great deal of effort into their _professional relationship_. What he did not expect in the beginning was to be cast away as direct as to be shoved off with the very first moment, even during the greetings, and as much a surprise that it had been in the begining of all of it, Bilbo had then considered that it was a natural outcome; the hate between Jewish and German folk was probably a reciprocate one. Yet the group had some more surprises in storage for him, and when Bofur had showed his doubts about _Master Baggins_ considering it acceptable to dine with the rest of them, the bourgeois understood that it was not simply a generalized socio-cultural hatred what lay between the Baggins and the company. He could not fathom what it really was, though, but he knew it was not something simple to grasp, and that made everything just a tad more complicated.

While finishing off with the refill of the second courses, the young Baggins caught a glimpse of someone entering the kitchen, and when he took his attention away from the food, he saw the young pair of brothers standing in front of his opened pantry with a considering regard while exchanging something in Hebrew.

 “Can I help you?” Bilbo asked, a bit annoyed because he already supposed what was to come, remembering as these particular brothers were the least interested in maintaining a respectable and polite appearance.

“We were just looking what Bombur has left for the rest of us to take.” Fili answered with quite a neutral tone as he did not even direct his sight towards the man he was talking with, fixing it instead at the contents of the pantry, which the young Baggins was starting to fear facing in case he found it half empty despite being replenished recently.

“I would rather appreciate it if you could just wait a few more minutes for the refill of the second plates.” Bilbo said while pointing at what he was preparing in the kitchen’s main table, but it was for naught as none of the youngest paid him much attention.

“You do that, I think I’ll take these in the meanwhile.” Kili said while taking out a pile of scones that Bilbo was saving for later, precisely the type that were homemade following Belladonna’s special family recipe, which her little son appreciated with much delight.

“No, please, just-, I’m about to bring more main courses, you would just spoil it for yourself with sweet-tasting dishes.”

“Master _Boggins_ is right, Kili, you’ll end up just grumpy because you’ll want to have more of the dumplings.”

“And I’ll have them, just watch me.” Kili said with a big smile direct to his brother, a bit on the teasing side and a bit simply filled with brotherly-warmth. “I’m simply not risking the rest coming here later after they finish before me and eat up all the sweet things.”

“Such a smart and tactical approach, Kili. If only you’d do the same with the things uncle tells you to keep in mind.” The blond boy said in a teasing tone and half a smile, while eyeing slight towards Bilbo. The bourgeois did not need more indications to get that he was being an intruder and tuned out from the brotherly bickering, deciding not to care about the food storage for the moment and leaving his protégées to their own devices. Later on he’ll have an opportunity to clarify what were the boundaries of his hospitality and the importance of respecting them.

To his desperation, Fili and Kili were not the last ones to enter the kitchen in search for the pantry and something else to refill the slowly emptying dinner table. Nori, followed closely by Ori, got there a few minutes later and started doing basically the same that the rest of the group had done before, although the man wearing the star-shaped hairdo kept on trying to tick Bilbo off, without much discrecy about it whatsoever, either by commenting some nasty adjectives about the food that Bilbo had prepared for the dinner to Ori in German (obviously meaning for it to be understandable to the young Baggins, as he suspected) or by speaking directly to Bilbo.

“I must admit, Mister, your silverware is pretty fancy, if I may so. So clean and shiny it’s as if it begs to be taken away.”

“I'd much appreciate it if you did not do so, Mister. It is my late mother’s favorite, and I hold them dear.”

To that, Nori did not answer and kept to his business afterwards. It would even seem that young Ori tried to ask for forgiveness with timid gestures when leaving the kitchen, bowing lightly at the doorstep before disappearing into the main corridor.

Soon enough, and thanks to the fact that no more interruptions were made, Bilbo had been able to finish the rest of the extra dishes and started carrying them to the dining room. Just as he was about to leave the kitchen, hands full of group dishes, Balin and Dwalin made their appearance in the room, slightly startling the young Baggins.

"Mister Baggins, would you need any help carrying that?" The white-bearded man said with some apparent concern in his voice, though the Bourgeois was not sure to what extent he was interpreting the man correctly.

"Oh, you shouldn't worry really. If anything, I would like to suggest you join the rest at the dinner room; I am about to serve some more dishes for everyone–"

"Those do look a tad weighty, if I were to be asked, Mister Baggins." Balin said somewhat matter-of-factly while looking at the dishes that Bilbo was carrying, and as if acting on cue, Dwalin stepped in front of the young Baggins and took half of what the younger man was holding, not before sighing irritably as if someone was ordering the man around. A bit at loss at what to do or say, Bilbo spoke a shy thank you and followed behind the tall man, but was stopped just after exiting the kitchen by Balin's voice.

"If it is alright with you, Master Baggins, I would like to use your kitchen for a few minutes."

The bourgeois immediate reaction would have been to inquire about the older man's request, but he was once again interrupted by Dwalin asking Bilbo where to leave the dishes in the dining room, perfectly on cue for Balin to disappear out of the young bourgeois' eyesight. And so, knowing that Balin was not really expecting any kind of permission but was just informing Bilbo of his intentions on using the kitchen, the short man entered the room where the rest of the group was gathered and, with Dwalin's resigned help, carried the rest of the dishes that he had prepared earlier and put down the desserts for those who had already eaten enough of the main courses. It was just then that the main door was knocked once again, and this time Bilbo knew it was going to be the last time for the night. Bracing himself and collecting what little sense was left of him after the extenuating curse of events, the bourgeois went to receive the last visit. And as per usual, he was not prepared for the sight that was standing at the other side of the door.

The man waiting just in front of Bilbo was incredibly tall, not so much as Dwalin perhaps, but his stern expression and overall intimidating presence made up for what little height the bald man had over the dark-haired one. Bilbo was not even sure if he could qualify this last addition as inappropriately eye-catching for his appearance, or if it was just the way the man held himself, proud and strict, what really made him look so exceptional among the rest. If the bourgeois had to guess by the impression the tall man gave him with just the first sight, he would seriously consider the man to be part of some antique royalty, and not just as a simple nobleman, in distant relationships with a king. With the grace with which the dark haired-man was able to hold himself, the carefully done and adorned dark-coal braids on either side of his face, how his overall figure was well kept, including the heavy clothing adorned on top with the dark-greyish fur of an animal Bilbo had never seen, the young Baggins wouldn't have been surprised to find out that the man was actually some kind of lost prince, as ridiculous as that may sound if said out loud, which the brunette made a note not to do.

"Mister Eichenschild," Gandalf, who was standing right next to the royalty-looking man, apparently tired of waiting for either of them to start the presentations, started doing the work, "this is Bilbo Baggins, the man who has so kindly offered to hide you and your men for the time being." The Russian man spoke with a slightly pressing tone, as if trying to clarify something for the umpteenth time to the stern looking man. Though what that might have been, the bourgeois didn't really want to know. If someone else was to doubt the nature of his actions once again during the night, he might just as well not come to acknowledge it and live in the cheer of ignorance. "Bilbo, this is Thorin Eichenschild, leader of the party I have guided here."

"It is a pleasure." The brunette said while bowing deeper than what he was used to, moved by some strange and unexpected admiration. And who could know, maybe by showing his respects to the leader of the party, the rest would stop his hostilities towards the young Baggins. It should be supposed too that being the leader he was, Thorin would probably be the most reasonable of them all.

Eichenschild did not answer immediately after Bilbo's pleasantries. Instead the Jewish man walked into the hall, gave the room a quick, not quite pleased glance, and then eyed the young Baggins with much the same spirit. Rude would have been the perfect adjective the host would have used if not concerned with over-stepping cultural boundaries and making good first impressions. Besides, Bilbo was probably misinterpreting Eichenschild’s attitude. A man of his status and position would know better than to act judgmental towards those who lend a helping hand out of simple sympathy.

“As bourgeois as expected.”

And then, Thorin Eichenschild opened his mouth.


End file.
